A Final Session
by PracticingTheArt
Summary: Just another day, another homicide and the lives of the guys at the 8th.
1. Chapter 1

This is my first attempt at fanfic although I do write general fiction so would love any constructive criticism.

A Final Session

Chapter One

_It was a hot night. One of those sauna sticky ones that made everything cling to the body no matter what you wore. You could have been naked and you'd have still felt as though the air had dressed you in a flak jacket. Karen groaned inwardly as she woke and fought with the thin sheet that she had covered herself with for what felt like the hundredth time that night. Sitting up she pushed the sheet aside, pulled down the NYPD mascot t-shirt that had wound up under her arm pits during the sheet battle and swung her legs over the side of the bed. Her toes curled happily as they met the cool of the wooden floor then curled unhappily as they met one of the many slightly raised wood tacks that lived in her DIY assaulted stained floorboards. Still, she had done them herself when she couldn't afford the new carpet and although they were no match for the solid oak laid at her partners condo she was very proud of them._

_Picking up the empty glass from her nightstand she padded through her single bedroom apartment to the kitchen, leaned heavily at the edge of the sink and ran the cold tap. She might as well get up and read or flick the TV on for all the sleep she was going to get tonight. 'Nope' she muttered to herself, 'you're goin' back to bed missy, you got work tomorrow.'_

_Clumsily she filled the glass, turned off the tap and returned to bed. Laying there, smoothing the sheet over her stomach, she wondered if it had just been the heat that was keeping her awake or that little comment that she and Jim had overheard at the club earlier that day. _

The lieutenant had handed them a DOA. A woman found out the back of a strip joint just off Bowery. They had gone down there only to be met inside the club by a couple of detectives from the 2-5. They had heard the call and it matched something they had picked up in their district two days before. It seemed sensible to leave it with the guys from the 2-5 so she and Jim had headed out. She was happy. She didn't really want to hang around the club especially when they were still operating. Business as usual, nothing stopping for the dead body out back.

Just as they neared the end of the bar Karen stopped abruptly leaving Jim to bump clumsily into her shoulder.

"Sorry Jim. Damn shoe lace. I snapped it this morning and didn't have another so I kind of tied it using about two inches of lace. It keeps coming undone. Gimme a minute?"

"You can't afford new laces on your salary Detective? We'll stop off and I'll treat you to a new pair." Jim laughed easily.

"Gee thanks partner!" Karen tried to sound pissy but ended up laughing back as she crouched down and fought with the short lace.

That was when the _little comment_ had happened. The two detectives from the 2-5 must have thought they had left already because as they neared the opposite end of the bar they started talking.

"Shit. It must be like being a diabetic in a candy store!" Detective Jay Connaught said, shaking his head.

"What you talkin' about now? How can you talk when there is so much to look at in here! Didn't you just see what she did on that pole? I swear these girls are like athletes or something. They should have pole dancing at the Olympics. Maybe I'd watch the damn thing then!" Laughed Arty Shaw as he scanned the club and swished his orange juice around the tall glass held in his sweaty hand.

"I'm talking about _him_. Dunbar. All this eye candy about _and_ that fine piece of ass he has leading him around and he can't see any of it. Shit, I'd rather blow my brains out man! "

"You think of the weirdest things my man. You know that don't you? I wouldn't sweat it. They probably don't think that way anymore."

"They?"

"Yeah. You know, the _handicapped._" Arty dropped his voice to a whisper as he said the last word. "He probably doesn't even get turned on anymore, hell, what's he gonna do to get the motor running? Films? Mags? I don't think Playboy comes in Braille. I can't imagine where they'd put all the dots."

Shaw and Connaught started to laugh, a little at first until it rose to belly laughs as they doubled up.

In the middle of all their laughter neither of them had heard or seen Jim walk slowly back down the length of the bar, trailing his hand along the polished marble until he knew he was only a step away from Arty. Only when he was a few short inches away from the two Detectives did they see him. Straightening up they both glanced at each other nervously.

"Hey ah, Dunbar we didn't mean a…" Shaw began to stammer out an apology.

Jim held his hand up in front of him.

"No need Arty, Just one thing though." He said evenly.

"Yeah?"

Even if there had been anymore to hear Shaw wouldn't have caught it as Jim knocked him off his feet with a sharp right hook.

"What? You didn't _see_ that coming?" Jim asked lightly. "Refer to my partner as a piece of ass again and you won't see the next one coming either"

Jim straightened his tie and turned away as Connaught struggled to pull his over weight partner up from the floor. His hand trailing the bar Jim walked back to Karen and her waiting arm.

Karen had been shocked. Shocked by the offensive bull those two idiots had been spouting but more shocked by Jims' reaction. He took loads of really low comments all the time, from perps, Marty, interviewees, everyone, but he always let them wash over him like it was nothing. He seemed impervious to everything thrown at him. But not this time. It had been a really personal comment and it had to have cut deep down but he didn't say anything on the way back to the squad.

As they parked she saw him flex his hand and wince a little.

"Your hand ok?"

"Yeah, it's fine" he replied.

"Not like you to get riled over someone else's' dumb ass comments." Karen probed.

"He insulted you and I don't care what people say about me but he went too far when he disrespected you." Jim looked down, his mouth set in a hard line.

"What if Shaw reports you?"

"You really think a tough guy like Shaw wants his squad knowing he got knocked on his ass by me?" Jim asked, looking over to Karen.

"No, probably not," she replied. "But hey, Jim,"

"Yeah?"

"At least he called me a '_fine'_ piece of ass, not just a piece of ass".

It was quiet in the car for a second until both Karen and Jim started to laugh. Shaking his head Jim opened the car door and got out.

* * *

As they neared the squad room Karen slowed and put her hand on Jims arm for a second, long enough to signal him to stop.

"What?" He asked

"Just one thing," she started, a little nervously, " What you said downstairs, about not caring what anyone says to you, well Jim you should care. They were out of line and well, you just should care."

Jim stood his head tilted down to where he figured Karen was, an unreadable expression on his face. It was impossible to tell what he made of Karens last comment.

Breaking the silence she continued walking pushing the swing gate that enclosed their group of desks. "Come on, that's my Oprah moment over for today. We better get some paperwork done." She huffed.

_Leaning out of bed a little to reach her nightstand, Karen turned the desk fan up a notch and lay back down. Closing her eyes she folded her hands over her stomach, laced her fingers and tried to stop her mind racing so she could get some rest._

_

* * *

_

In a red brick building in the shadow of the Manhatten Bridge Christie Dunbar slept peacefully. Now the air con was fixed for the first time in three days she could get a good nights sleep. Her face was peaceful and her black hair fanned out on the pillows beneath her.

Less peacefully Jim lay next to her staring up at the ceiling wondering if there was a ceiling fan above him. It seemed ridiculous but he couldn't remember. He knew there was one in the other room above the couch but was there one in here? He could ask Christie in the morning but how would that look? Not knowing. It _was_ ridiculous. Mind you he should be able to ask her. Out of anyone on the planet he should be able to ask his wife.

Dr Esther Bergen had talked to them a long time ago about trusting each other with their insecurities. Jim hadn't understood at first, still clinging to the idea that Christie shouldn't see him as blind, that if he could hide all the daily problems blindness threw up for him from her she might forget it and see him as the man he used to be. Dr Bergen had eventually managed to get him to realize that Christie was his 'safe person'. Someone he could ask anything and not feel embarrassed or vulnerable. He had come to understand that he didn't need to project an image for Christie and letting her see how he felt sometimes wasn't a weakness.

It had certainly helped their relationship. He still fell into his old patterns sometimes but then so did she – she was just as bad at talking in riddles and never finishing arguments, letting them stew until the atmosphere was unbearable but they had learned how to break out of the pattern. Now, not only did Jim remember why he fell in love with Christie in the first place but also he had seen new aspects to her personality that made him fall in love with her all over again. For her part Christie had finally vocalized how she felt about his affair not only in terms of what it had done to her but why she thought it had happened and her own part in the decline of their marriage.

Finally they seemed to be getting better. They weren't totally fixed yet but were realistic enough to understand that no couple ever is. Christie had learned to trust Jim again and he had learned to trust Christie with some of his innermost feelings. They had begun to trust each other and that meant everything to them both.

Jim passed his hand over his face. The air con was fixed but he was still too hot. It wasn't the whether that kept him awake though. It was what had happened today at the strip club.

He had lied to Karen and himself, and he knew it. He hadn't decked Shaw because he insulted Karen but because of what he had said in reference to Jims sex life.

He had hit him because what he said was true.

* * *

At another building in DUMBO over on Cedar Street, not far from Jim and Christie Dunbar's condo on Front Street, Elise Robson shifted in her sleep. She felt as though she was on the cusp of waking but was too groggy to rouse herself completely. She stretched and moved over onto her right side thinking how nice it was that her husband was making her breakfast in bed. Even in her half comatose state she knew that's what he was doing because she could smell the coffee and heard the rattle of the plates and silverware as she lay in the cocoon of her bed. If only she could wake herself properly she thought she would get up and persuade him to come back to bed for a while whilst the coffee brewed. She giggled lazily and rolled forwards only to be met by her husbands sleeping form.

Somewhere in the back of Elise's' mind she knew an alarm bell was ringing, that she should be worried about something. If only she could wake up properly, clear her head of this unfamiliar cotton wool; shift the vaguely nauseous feeling from the pit of her stomach. Now, _what was it?_ _What was wrong?_

Ah yes, a fleeting moment of clarity that skittered away almost as soon as it had arrived! That was it!

_If Robert was in bed beside her, who was making the coffee?_


	2. Chapter 2

A Final Session

Chapter Two

The following day was no cooler than the previous night. Hank was too hot. Tongue lolling he sprawled out on the floor of the squad room next to Jims chair lazily wagging his tail and rolling onto his side giving a small whine as he did so.

"I think this might be classed as animal cruelty" Karen sighed, "It's too hot in here for him _and_ us"

"You're just hot because you're bored" Marty replied.

"Bored?"

"Yeah, bored. If you had something juicy to keep your mind occupied you wouldn't notice the heat so much"

"Well my mind is pretty much occupied by the way you smell at the moment Marty and that hasn't stopped me from feeling hot." Karen snapped.

"Shit, you can smell that? Damn. Tom, I'm gonna kick your ass for suggesting this stuff to me."

"What stuff?" Karen asked feeling a little bad for mentioning the odd smell that shrouded Marty today.

"Aluminum free natural deodorant" Tom replied, "It works better than the other stuff, honest. And it's better for you _and_ the environment."

"I never knew you cared so much Tom" Marty snarked.

"Hey, just watching my carbon footprint like we all should"

Karen laughed as Marty shook his head in disbelief.

"How can _this_ be better for me? I stink. If it gets any worse someone's liable to shoot me to put me outta my misery!"

"Maybe it's just having a reaction on you" Tom replied lightly.

"A reaction?!" Marty yelped.

Karen looked up as Jim walked back into the squad from the lockers carrying Hanks third bowl of water for that morning.

"What did I miss?" He asked, thinking all the commotion might be a new case just in.

"Nothing, just Marty and his choice of deodorant" Tom laughed.

"Oh, that" Jim muttered "I was going to say something yesterday but you guys didn't seem to notice"

"What, you noticed this before today?" Marty demanded.

"Well, yeah. It's kind of hard to miss Marty."

"Why didn't you say something before it got this bad?"

"Well that would have just been rude Marty, and I know you'd never make upsetting personal comments to me so …" Jim shrugged as he felt for the back of his chair and sat down. His face was blank even as Tom started to laugh.

"And you guys are supposed to have my back!" Marty moaned.

Suddenly the door to Fisk's office yanked open.

"Who's up?" Fisk barked.

"That would be 'eau naturel' boy over here" Tom quipped.

"Me" Marty glowered at Tom as Fisk glanced around the room, a confused look on his face.

Marty strode over to the boss to take the paper he held in his hand.

"DOA in an apartment building on Cedar. That's not far from your place is it Jim?" Fisk asked

"No. Just a couple of blocks down." Jim confirmed, looking interested.

As Marty took the paper Fisk looked at him and wrinkled his nose a little.

"What?" demanded Marty

"Nothing" Fisk turned back to his office as Karen and Tom tried in vain to stifle their laughter.

* * *

25 Cedar Street was a similar building to the converted warehouse the Dunbar's lived in. Open plan, not quite as classy in the décor Karen thought, as she scoped the interior but not bad. She, Marty, Tom and Jim stood back while the SOC boys took their final photographs of the body that lay flat on its back on the glass dining table in the middle of the room.

In a low voice Karen talked Jim through the scene.

"DOA's a Robert Robson. Caucasian. Late thirties. Dressed in his boxers. He's on his back on the dining table. Hands and feet tied with ropes to each leg of the table. Kinda like a starfish you know? A lot of blood pooled at the foot of each table leg. His wife found him when she got up. She was the one who called it in"

"What are the injuries?" Jim asked as he removed his sunglasses and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Too much blood everywhere to tell. We'll have to wait for the ME's report" Karen replied. "Are you ok?" She continued.

"Yeah. Just didn't get much sleep last night and I have the headache to end all headaches. Where the wife?" he asked, smartly changing the subject.

Karen leaned to her right to get a glimpse through the open bedroom door.

"In the bedroom with one of the EMTs." She replied.

Jim nodded. Turning to where he knew Marty and Tom were standing he asked, "Where do you want us Marty? The wife or canvassing the neighbors?"

"Um the wife I think. She might be happier with Karen in there" Marty replied as he squatted down to look under the dining table.

Tom and Karen exchanged looks. This was a rare moment that they didn't enjoy very often, Marty and Jim working together instead of rubbing each other up the wrong way.

"Let's not even ask" Tom muttered to Karen as she passed him on her way to the bedroom, "We should just enjoy it while it lasts."

Karen nodded, continuing with Jim to the other room.

Elise Robson was sat on the edge of the king size bed she had woken in an hour earlier. She was pale and drawn and in her right hand she held onto a waste paper basket as if her life depended on it. A young EMT squatted down besides her fixing a blood pressure cuff onto her left arm. Suddenly without warning she creased forwards over the basket and wretched violently.

"Mrs. Robson?" Karen ventured when the woman had finished being sick. "Mrs. Robson I'm Detective Bettancourt and this is my partner Detective Dunbar. I know this is very difficult but do you feel that you could answer some questions for us?"

Elise Robson wretched again.

"It's the chloroform" the EMT supplied.

"Chloroform?" Repeated Karen.

"The rags still on the bed. I haven't touched it. Looks like she was given a few hefty doses to keep her out of it while whoever it was did that to the husband."

"You should be a detective," Jim said grimly.

"No way. My job is bad enough. I wouldn't want yours for all the money in the world." The EMT replied, shaking his head seriously. "I don't even want to think about the stuff you must see every…."

The young mans voice trailed off as he realized what he was saying but Jim merely waved the comment away with his hand.

"How is she?" he asked

"She seems ok," the EMT continued, "but I think we need to take her in just to be safe."

"We'll be quick" Karen said. "Elise can you remember anything about last night? Anything at all that might help us?"

She shook her head slowly, tears streaming down her face.

"What did you and your husband do last night, before you went to bed?" Jim asked.

"Um, we went to dinner at a new Italian Restaurant a couple of blocks down. I can't remember the name. You can see the bridge from the windows. We sat right by the window …." She trailed off.

"Would the restaurant staff be able to confirm that Elise?" Karen asked.

"Yes. We made a booking; or rather Robert made the booking. 8 O'clock. We left at around 10. I have the receipt in my purse somewhere. We took a slow walk home via the park and must have gotten to bed at around 11 sometime."

"OK," Karen started but was interrupted as Elise continued in a dreamy voice.

"It was just so hot wasn't it? And I remember feeling like I was waking up but maybe dreaming a bit. It felt late but I could hear Robert making coffee and breakfast. I wanted to call him back to bed but I couldn't - like when you're dreaming and you can't run because your legs are too heavy, you know?"

Jim nodded.

"I remember thinking that he was being so nice but then I must have rolled over because I felt him, Robert, next to me, but I swear I could still hear someone out in the kitchen. I must have fallen back to sleep because the next thing I remember was waking up with my head pounding and my stomach churning with the smell of the breakfast."

"Breakfast?" Karen queried

"Yes. I didn't dream it because it's there!" Elise nodded toward the nightstand on the other side of the bed.

"Karen?" Jim, head bowed, nudged Karen's arm lightly.

"Breakfast. On a tray next to the bed. Coffee, bagels, eggs and a red rose" Karen supplied.

With that description Elise Robson was promptly sick again.

* * *

"What have we got?" Fisk demanded as his detectives walked back into the squad.

"We're waiting for the ME report on Robert Robson meanwhile were gonna start checking the usual. Debts, enemies, anyone he might have pissed off" Marty answered.

"Karen, Jim?" Fisk enquired

"We're checking out the neighbors statements and then we'll go over to the hospital once the wife's in a better state to talk to us. They took her to Lenox" Karen said, thinking she saw Jim tense when she mentioned the hospital. When she glanced over again his face was impassive. She shrugged inwardly. Maybe she'd imagined it.

"The basics are we got a guy who brutally murders people whilst leaving a considerate breakfast in bed for their other half." Marty quipped.

"We'll run the details see if anything similar pops up from the last couple years" finished Tom.

"Good. Let me know how you go." With that Fisk went back into his office.

Quiet descended as the four detectives started the tasks in hand.

* * *

Later that afternoon Marty pushed his chair back and rubbed his fingers over his eyes. It was way too hot to concentrate and he hadn't slept well the night before. His ex wife Julie was having her apartment decorated and was worried the paint fumes might be bad for their sons asthma so Marty Junior was staying with dad. This was great but it meant that Marty was on the sofa bed while junior was in his bed. He didn't really mind. He loved having his kid over. It didn't make up for all that he missed out on in his daily life but it was better than nothing. He had been taking him to school and collecting him, which was sweet, but now the case was in he knew he'd have to bow out – _again_. One of the reasons Julie had given up on him and their marriage.

He'd called her to say he'd be too late to collect junior and she'd been less than happy. They had arranged to go into the boy's school to talk to his teachers about his progress, or recent lack of progress, and now Marty would miss it. This did not make him any happier.

Antsily he fiddled with the pens on his desk, shuffled a few papers. They were getting nowhere. Karen and Jim weren't back from talking to the wife at Lenox Hospital yet and the ME had called to say the report wouldn't be in until the morning. Something about a power out and not being able to 'slice and dice in the dark' they had joked. Marty never did like the ME's sense of humor.

Pushing his chair back he rose and walked purposefully over to the bosses office. Knocking lightly he pushed the door open and leaned in.

"What's up Marty?" Fisk asked.

"We're getting nowhere at the moment Boss and I could do with being at a parent teacher thing at my kids school. I wouldn't normally slack off at the start of something but is it ok this once?"

"Of course it is Marty. You never take any time. Just get Tom to fill me in before he heads out and call Jim and Karen to get them to check in with me once they're through at Lenox."

Marty nodded his thanks and walked back to his desk. Filling Tom in he grabbed his jacket and made his way over to the locker room. There were a couple of uniforms already in there. They had pulled the small folding table that usually hid behind the back of the door out and had dragged a couple of chairs out from the wall up to it. Obviously hot one of the patrolmen lounged back on the chair, legs sprawled, fanning himself against the heat. The other one was making a fresh pot of coffee, the canister, scoop and the box of sugar packets spread messily on the counter top.

Marty nodded to the two guys. The officer at the table looked up at Marty, straightened himself up and by way of explanation said "Locker room downstairs is being painted, Sir"

"No problem" Marty replied wondering why everyone suddenly wanted to paint once the temperature hit the hundreds.

As he opened his locker and pulled out his bag Marty saw the coffee guy toss the scoop back into the box of sugar packets and then stow the box, not in its usual cupboard, but on the low shelf that was adjacent to the coffee maker. He then grabbed the coffee canister putting it back in the cupboard he had taken it from but on the top shelf not the usual lower one.

"Hey. What are you doin'?" Marty demanded, feeling an anger rising in him that was so swift and unfamiliar that it shocked him.

"What do you mean, Sir?" stammered coffee boy.

"I mean what are you doing. You didn't get that stuff from offa' that shelf and the canister doesn't go where you just put it so I'm asking you, what are you doing?"

Marty could hear the bite in his voice but couldn't stop himself.

The uniformed officer looked sideways at his partner at the table as if he was hearing a trick question and couldn't grab an answer out of thin air. His buddy at the table stood up to come to the rescue.

"Sorry Sir we didn't know you were such neat freaks up here." He smiled genuinely.

"Neat freaks huh?" Marty repeated belligerently, "_Neat freaks?_ Well you guys might exist in a vacuum downstairs but up here we like to think about each other just a little. Now I imagine if you boys were blind you'd be more than happy for me to keep everything in its place or maybe you just think it would add to the specialness of your day to have everything hidden from you, huh!"

Marty jabbed his finger at coffee guy as he watched the understanding of what he was talking about dawn on the uniformed officers faces.

"Sorry Sir, we didn't think. We'll make sure everything is back right."

"Make sure you do. Canister on the lower shelf. Scoop in front of it. Sugar box to the left. And get the damn table and chairs back where you found them." He barked.

With that Marty slammed his locker door and strode out, too overwhelmed by his own outburst to notice Tom standing just outside the locker room door, mouth hanging open.


	3. Chapter 3

A Final Session

Chapter Three

Jims' dark blue shirt clung to his back as he tried to peel himself away from the back of the passenger seat of the car. Karen glanced over to him from the drivers seat before she swung the sedan out into the stream of late afternoon traffic.

They hadn't gotten much from the wife and Karen was glad to be out of the hospital. It wasn't that she didn't like them. She hadn't had much experience of being in one personally but she hated the way the tension radiated from her partner every time they had to go to one to interview somebody. Today was even worse only she wasn't sure why. It was the first time she had ever been to Lenox, usually the people they wanted to talk to ended up in Belleview or St Clare's, but not today. Today, because it was hot, sods law had made them drive that bit further to Lenox.

She had done most of the talking with the wife to build up a picture of the relationship she had with her husband and although Jim pitched in every now and then he seemed distracted, antsy almost. As soon as she ventured a "are we done?" in his direction he had almost sprinted out of the room.

As the cars air con kicked in and made the vehicles interior semi inhabitable Karen took the plunge.

"What's up?" she asked , trying the keep her tone light.

"I'm fine"

"I'm gonna get that etched on your tombstone you know." She raised her eyebrows at him knowing the gesture was wasted but doing it anyway.

"I don't like hospitals." He said flatly.

"No one does Jim and I _have_ noticed they aren't your favorite place but to be honest you were useless in there. Could you have looked more like you wanted to leave?"

Jim looked taken a back for a moment. He thought about what she had just said. She was right he had done nothing of what he had gone to do, leaving it all to his partner just because he couldn't drag himself away from the thoughts in his head for half an hour and get his damn job done. She deserved an explanation and he knew it but what could he say, how could he explain without exposing too much of himself? Suddenly something occurred to him. The world probably wouldn't end if he opened up to his _partner_ one tiny little bit. And he did trust her, didn't he?

"We've never even been there before.. " she continued, her tone exasperated.

"I have." Jim interrupted calmly. "And going back reminded me of feeling …" he held his finger tips to his mouth as he struggled for the right word "…_being_…. scared."

Karen swallowed. How could she be so _stupid_? She really was as tactless as her mother always told her she was. She frantically searched for something to say but was surprised into silence as Jim carried on.

"Elise Robsons door was wedged open, right?"

"Yeah, " Karen replied.

Leaning back on the head rest, the backs of his fingers brushing the grill of the closest air vent, Jim continued.

"That's the nurses, they like patients to keep their doors open, so you don't feel so isolated. It's probably a good idea but at night it's too quiet and you hear every little thing. It keeps you awake. I remember one night, it was late, Christie was holding my hand. It was real quiet and then all I could hear were monitors and someone right by me calling the crash code and I remember thinking _"this is it"_. I'm gonna die and everyone else in that corridor with their doors wedged open is gonna _hear_ me die."

"Jim I …" Karen's mouth was dry with the shock of such an outburst from her usually guarded partner.

"Hey Karen", he laughed, breaking the heavy atmosphere "I didn't die, _obviously_. Cascading hemorrhage. They sorted it."

"How can you just laugh?" She questioned. "It's not funny"

"No Karen, it's not funny, like most things people laugh about." He replied, shaking his head, a smile still ghosting his lips. "Come on!"

When he sensed she wasn't going to lighten up anytime soon Jim figured he might as well go the whole hog and really wind her up.

"Look Karen", he started his tone as serious as she's ever heard it. "you should know something, that bullet, it didn't just mess with my eyes. It kinda did something that screwed with my judgement a little, you know, laughing at inappropriate things. I can't help it so if I offended you I …." He trailed off, looking down at his hands, eyes guarded by his dark glasses.

"Shit, Jimmy, I uh … I didn't realize. You just seem so normal you know apart from the seeing thing?" She stopped abruptly when she saw his face crease into a smile that swiftly turned into a grin and a throaty laugh.

"You bastard!" She exclaimed. "Don't you speak to me for the next half hour!" She ordered.

"You are _so_ easy." He spluttered. "You're getting easier than Tom and that's saying something."

Silence descended in the car for a little while.

"Is my half hour up yet?" Jim teased.

"Look, that thing you said about being in Lenox well, jesus Jimmy, you don't share very often but when you do …" Karen huffed, shaking her head as she wriggled a little in her clammy shirt.

"Yeah, well we've been partners for a year. Maybe I can share a little now and then, and you did deserve a good explanation for me not pulling my weight back there"

"Forget about it. You want a ride home?"

"Nah, can you drop me at Christies office? We got a therapy session so that should put a stop to my sharing mood". He said grimly.

* * *

A short time later Jim and Christie Dunbar sat in Dr Bergens office on the huge couch that seemed to take over most of the room. That couch had seen everything. Jim and Christie at opposite ends, Christie on her own when Jim failed to turn up, Jim tense and Christie staunching tears with stacks of tissues and once, in an uncharacteristic revenge attack from Christie, Jim on his own when Christie failed to turn up.

Each time they talked. In the earlier days the talk had been stilted, hard to get started and Jim knew that was his fault. He hated to talk. It made his insides squirm at the prospect of revealing too much about himself, other people knowing what made him tick.

He knew it was a hangover from his childhood, when his father used every bit of knowledge about him to humiliate and bully him. Jim was happier with actions than words. He knew his father would use words to hurt him wherever and whenever he wanted but he also knew that his father would be careful to restrain his actions if they weren't safely hidden within the four walls of their home. He'd call Jimmy useless outside in front of his school friends but he'd beat him in private and in an odd way Jim had been happier with that. He could deal with that because there were never any witnesses to make him feel ashamed.

Knowing why he hated to talk didn't help him though because his common sense told him that if he didn't talk to his wife he would loose her and he desperately did not want that to happen. So for her and for himself he talked and things got better, a little at first and now after nearly a year of therapy they were a lot better.

Something was still on Jims mind though and it bothered him that Christie never brought it up with Dr Bergen and rarely brought it up with him. He knew what he had to do, for the sake of his marriage, and although the thought of broaching this particular subject made him squirm he _was_ going to do it.

"Jim? Are you still with us?" Dr Bergen enquired gently. "I was just saying to Christie that I feel you're ready to reduce your sessions to once every couple of months but you can come back earlier if you feel like it. Judging by the look on your face I feel like you're not quite in agreement."

"No I … Well yeah, we are getting so much better at talking and listening and just being together. All the things we needed but I .. I need to talk about something else and I know Christie won't bring it up but I don't know why, but I know it matters …" he was aware that he was babbling and he wasn't used to it. He desperately needed to resume control over his mouth.

"Take a breath Jim and take your time." Dr Bergen soothed.

"It's not Christie, it's me, I er .." He swallowed hard.

"Yes?"

"Jim, really this doesn't .. " Christie started to say something but Dr Bergen held up a hand for her to stop.

"Jim" Dr Bergen encouraged.

"I hit someone at work yesterday. Another Detective" he managed.

"Jim!" Christie gasped.

Ignoring her he continued.

"We had a call to a strip club and this guy thought I couldn't hear him. He said me being in there musta been like a 'diabetic being in a candy store' on account of me being 'handicapped'. It seemed to be a given to him that the handicapped can't get laid."

"So you hit him." Dr Bergen reiterated. "Why did you hit him Jim?" she probed.

His mouth turned down at the corners and he shook his head slightly before he continued.

"I told my partner it was because he was being offensive about her but it wasn't."

"Why then?"

"Jimmy!" Christie tried to interrupt.

He leaned forwards on the couch his elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped in front of his mouth. "I hit him because what he said was true, for me anyway, it _is_ true."

Christie closed her eyes and sighed inwardly. Turning to face his wife Jim carried on.

"I know you would never have said anything Christie but it matters, it _does_ matter and I can't keep letting you down, I just … I just .. I can't! It has been such a long time now!"

He finished, sounding utterly defeated.

Dr Bergen was quiet for a moment as she observed the couple in front of her. This was an interesting test she thought. Their old pattern of behavior would have been to shift away from each other. He would do it first and she would follow suit. Esther waited and watched. She could see Jims' immense internal conflict as every fiber of his being screamed at him to retreat into himself. Her own tension rose as for a split second it looked as though all the work they had put in over the last year was going to be lost but then at what seemed like the last minute and with enormous effort Jim reached out for Christies hand and she leaned into him putting her other hand protectively on the back of his neck, quickly kissing his temple.

"Jim, have you thought about what you have been through over the past two years?" Dr Bergen asked carefully.

"Of course I have." He said quietly his head bowed.

"OK. Do you think it has been a lot or a little?"

"What do you mean?" He looked confused.

"Have you been through a lot or a little? It's a simple question."

"A lot I guess." Jim replied

"And to go through a lot takes time doesn't it?"

"Yes."

"Based on that knowledge I want you to start by letting go of the idea that it has been, what did you say, 'such a long time' since you had sex. Let go of the idea that you are in the wrong because it has been so long. You both had problems in your marriage, you Jim, were then shot and hospitalized for two months. If I remember your notes correctly you were then treated for severe depression and PTSD for several months after your release from hospital. At the same time you've been in rehab, gotten on top of your depression, returned to work and then faced the problems in your emotional relationship with your wife. Now lets start on your physical relationship with your wife. It's the last hurdle Jim and there's nothing wrong in saving it until last. What would have been wrong would have been not mentioning it today and I'm very proud of you for bringing it up."

Christie looked at Jim and realizing he was too upset to speak she turned to Dr Bergen.

"Where do we start with this then?"

"Well Christie you can start by telling me why Jim says you would never have mentioned this to me?"

"I know how private he is and I thought it would be the last thing he'd bring up. And in a way I wanted to protect him I suppose. I have faith in him Esther, in us, and I know we'll get it back together. I thought it would just take time and it would sort its self out."

"That's because you don't know what the problem is. Only Jim does."

"I do?" He asked.

"Yes Jim, we just haven't uncovered it yet. Tell me, where do you want your physical relationship to be? Christie?"

"I want it to be how it was before Jim had the affair."

"Jim?"

"Yeah. That's what I want too."

"Christie, I know we have talked about Jims affair in great depth and you've reached a point where it no longer dominates or even figures in your feelings toward your marriage but do you honestly have no hesitation about resuming your physical relationship with Jim?"

"I said it wasn't Christie and it isn't. She's perfect. She always tries I just …" Jim fizzled out.

"Christie?"

"Jim's right. I've moved on and I've forgiven him and myself for the mess we both created back then. I love my husband Esther and I want him, in every way but I'm not sure he wants me." She finished quietly.

"Christie, no, that's not it." Jim cried imploringly "I meant it when I said it wasn't you!"

"OK, hold on," Dr Bergen interrupted, "Who usually initiates sex?"

"Mostly me." Christie answered.

"Ok. Christie. Tell me what happens when you initiate sex." Dr Bergen asked in a matter of fact tone.

Christies face flushed. "I can't, really I can't talk about it like this Esther."

"Christie. One of the things we established early on in our sessions was that you are married to one of the most taciturn people on the planet," Esther joked her tone then turning serious, "based on that knowledge how hard do you think it was for Jim to bring this up? This should give you an indication of how much he is committing to your relationship, how much he wants it to succeed. Repay that Christie. Help him. Talk."

Christie drew a deep breath. "Well, he always seems interested. We start and … then, I don't know.. something always happens."

"Like?"

"Well, the passion just sort of dies and then the phone rings and he has to get it or his pager, the dog needs to go out and he has an excuse to stop. I don't know. A million little things. Sometimes nothing happens but he stops anyway. He's always considerate uh …"Christie fumbled with her words, "He always makes sure I'm happy but I want us both to er … you know?" Christie frowned over to Dr Bergen.

"Jim, do you ever initiate sex?"

"Sometimes, yeah, but it still goes the way Christie just said." Jim replied, his voice quiet as he bit his lower lip.

"So the initial desire is there on both your parts but something is throwing a hurdle in your way. That's good. You both want the same thing. You just need to see how to get it. Jim can you verbalise your thought process during these moments?"

"Not that I could repeat in present company." Jim joked, hoping to deflect the question.

"Look" Esther glanced at her watch, "I'll hold off filing your notes for the moment and if it's convenient we could resume this at the same time next week. I want you both to understand that people have a lot of white noise going on in their heads, a lot of subliminal thoughts flitting around without us even registering them on a conscious level. If the opportunity arises Jim I want you to see if you can pinpoint some of these thoughts that occur when you try to have sex and Christie I want you to see if you can notice a catalyst for the point where things cool off. OK?" She looked expectantly at the couple on her couch. "Good. I'll see you both next week."

Jim swallowed. He could hear the smile in Dr Bergens voice.

* * *

"What do you think that meant?" Jim asked Christie as they walked back into the apartment, Jim dropping his keys on the desk as he bent down to unbuckle Hanks harness.

"What?" She replied as she reached into the fridge for a glass of wine for herself and a beer for Jim.

"That ominous parting shot from Esther. You know about me pinpointing thoughts I don't know I'm having?" He smiled nervously.

"I dread to think. I swear Jim I can't talk to her about our sex life again. She looks like a cross between someones grandmother and my old kindergarten teacher." She laughed.

Jim moved into the kitchen behind Christie and reached down to grab Hanks bowl. Filling it from the box of dog biscuits from one of the low cupboards he asked Christie,

"Are you mad at me for bringing it up?"

"No. But you could have warned me." She said simply.

"Christie. I couldn't I … It took all my courage to say it out loud once. I couldn't have had a run through first with you." Jim gave a short laugh figuring joking about it would fool Christie into not hearing the unhappiness in his voice.

Either the dry laugh had worked or more likely Christie just understood his need to leave the subject alone for now but she wrapped her arms around him and kissed him hard on his cheek, her fingertips brushing the faint scar on his temple.

As she moved away, talking about ordering in pizza, Jim hoped he had masked his expression adequately so she wouldn't have seen the shudder that threatened to cloud his face when her fingers found the scar. She often grazed it with a touch, a caring caress and it didn't hurt at all but each time she did it it made Jim feel like he was going to be sick.

"Hey, pizza boy. Where were you?" She laughed at him.

"Sorry, just thinking." He replied.

"I know. About what?"

"What do you think? Pizza topping. I'm having extra anchovies and olives."

"That's still disgusting even after all these years". She laughed, wrinkling her nose, just as he knew she would be.


	4. Chapter 4

A Final Session

Chapter Four

It had been a day shy of a week since the Robson homicide and nothing had popped up. In that time the weather had gotten hotter, if that was possible, the case hadn't progressed hardly at all and Jim was almost buckling under the pressure of tomorrows looming appointment with Dr Bergen.

"Right" Barked Marty to no one and everyone. "Lets take this from the top _again! _Karen, you start us off this time."

"We got one Robert Robson, white male, late thirties. Married, no children. Works in advertising over at Marshall, Kent and Warner - swish office overlooking Central Park. Married to wife Elise for 18 years. They met at college. A match made in heaven by all accounts. The wife admits that he did have issues with gambling starting four or five years back but maintains that it's been under control for a long while now. Both their finances and statements from his regular GA councilor support that. Their bank balance is healthy, no debts popping up, not even a credit card. The wife says that the gambling put a strain on their marriage but since the husband recognized the problem and was able to talk about it to his councilor and a couples therapist they went to for a year or so they managed to get back on track. There's no evidence of infidelities on either part and apart from the hiccup of him being murdered they were on track for a happy ever after." She finished with a small sigh as she fanned herself with her note pad.

"ME report?" Marty questioned.

Having his screen reader go over and over the report countless times trying in vain to spot a clue had etched the report on Jims mind and he easily reiterated its salient points to the three other detectives.

"ME found traces of chloroform in the victims lungs but not a huge amount. Probably just enough to knock him out and get him situated on the table. The ropes had made deep cuts into his ankles and wrists suggesting he was able to struggle for quite some time. He had bruising to the side of his face probably sustained from multiple back handed blows, ME suggests back handed because of markings present which appear to have been caused by the face of a large ring. The blows were hard enough to fracture his cheekbone. The actual cause of death was from blood loss from cuts around each wrist and each ankle. There were various small cuts followed by single deep ones to each wrist. Drying of the blood around the smaller wounds suggests they were made approximately four or five hours before the final ones. Wife found the body at around 9 am, ME states he had been dead for around two hours by then."

Jim continued, "The only thing I get from that was that the perp started in on the vic at around 1am, took his time and delivered the finishing blows as it were only when he was good and ready at around 7am"

Marty nodded, more to himself than anyone in particular.

"Anything come up yet from archive Tom?" Marty asked

"Well a second ago I would have said no but something just landed in my email that might get this show on the road." He said, smiling broadly and grabbing up his phone.

* * *

Two hours after the run through Tom and Karen were at their desks while Marty perched on the corner of Jims, trying to shift so he didn't have his back all the way to him. He knew Jim couldn't see him but he still felt as though he was being rude sitting like that. Shuffling round a little he studied the retired detective sitting in his chair in front of them. 

"So how come this didn't pop up when we ran it through the computer archives? Karen was asking.

"The 7-7 had a massive IT breakdown two years ago and the mother load of files was lost." Explained Tom.

"That's right," agreed Jack Riordan, Detective 2nd grade, retired. He was grinning, more than happy to get pulled back into a squad after a years' retirement spent, so far, designing a new yard layout with his wife.

"How d'you hear about this?" Asked Marty.

"Ah retired cops. What are we gonna do apart from sit around and gossip to other retired cops and well we still have our sources in house ya know!" he laughed, swigging his coffee. "A buddy of mines son in law works in uniform outta this precinct and he told my buddy a bit about this case that had come in, he knows he still likes to hear about life on the street. Anyways it rang a bell, the breakfast bit. It rang a bell cause we had been going over our top five weirdest cases down at the bar only the week before and this was my number two. How's that for timing huh!" He demanded looking eagerly at his audience.

"So what was your case and how was it similar?" Marty questioned.

"Just under 2 years ago. Estelle and Michael Goldberg. Nice couple by all accounts. Lived over on the Lower East Side. Owned a jewellery store. Lived in the apartment above it in fact. They go to bed one night happy as anything. She wakes up in the morning to find him tied to a chair stone dead. Weird thing was the fresh pot of coffee on her nightstand next to a pile of computer print outs for dating agencies. A bit insensitive, but there you are. This perp kills her husband but brews her a fresh pot and sets her back on track for finding number two!"

"Are there any handwritten or typed up notes left anywhere or were they all saved on the systems network?" Jim enquired.

"I'm an old dog son, and I still liked to make proper notes so yeah, all the info we gathered will be in the paper archives at 1PP"

Whilst giving this information to Jim, Riordan had raised his voice uncomfortably, pronouncing everything real clear as if Jim were stupid. Karen closed her eyes and shook her head waiting for Jim to nip it in the bud like he had done that time with that hideous Semple guy. It didn't come though. Jim just took a deep breath and gave Riordan a small smile.

"Great," Marty asserted, "we'll get a hold of those and pick them apart. Thanks Jack, you may just have saved our butts on this one."

"No problem Detective Russo, Detectives" rising he nodded to Karen and Tom. Riordan, once again raising his voice too much turned to Jim and grabbed his arm to give it a little shake "Good luck Son." He bellowed as Jim jumped at the intrusion of an unexpected hand suddenly grabbing at him.

Finally the icing on the cake came as Marty escorted Riordan through the swing gate and towards the stairs. Karen and Tom winced inwardly as he loudly asserted how great it must be for them to have a guy always in house to pick up the calls whilst they were out in the field. "I wouldn't let him loose with the filing though if I were you." He laughed slapping Marty on the shoulder "See ya."

"Hey" Marty called to Riordan beckoning him back. Karen and Tom watched as Marty bent to Riordans ear and whispered something tersely. Riordan glanced sheepishly back at Jim and said something back to Marty, something too low for Karen and Tom to hear. Marty shook his hand uttering a "don't sweat it" and left Riordan to make his way down the stairs.

With that Jack Riordan, detective 2nd grade, retired, was gone, leaving Karen and Tom exchanging a look and Jim with a mild headache.

* * *

Ten minutes later in the locker room Karen and Tom looked around furtively before Tom pushed the door shut with his foot. Karen picked the coffee pot up and absently swilled it round while Tom paced in front of her. 

"I'm telling you something is not right. My whole universe is turning upside down!" Tom complained.

"I know what you mean," Karen agreed. "Just run me through it again Tom."

"I've already run through this twice! I caught Marty ragging on two uniforms about moving stuff around. He was fighting Jims corner and man he was seriously pissed at them." Tom supplied.

Karen's brows knitted as she tried to get her head around what Tom had told her. Taking a breath she picked up where Tom had stopped. "And then at the crime scene last week, Marty _was_ weird. Jim does sometimes try to get on side with Marty so him asking Marty where he wanted us wasn't too unusual but Marty not giving him static back? That's just not normal. And then what was that just now? Am I imagining it or did it look like he just set Riordan straight about Jim back there?"

"Damn. That's what I thought! It's wrong Karen, it's just wrong, like when they replaced Mulder with that Terminator guy. Wrong." Tom finished throwing his hands up in confusion.

"You do know that's just TV right, don't you Tom?" Karen asked, a concerned look on her face.

"I know, _I know_." His voice raising an octave.

"So we're agreed? Jim is still being regular Jim so it's Marty whose been replaced with a 'Stepford Cop' right?" Karen concluded as Tom nodded reluctantly. "Good. He's your partner that means you find out what's up!"

With that Karen smiled, poured herself and Jim a cup of coffee and waited while Tom levered open the door.

* * *

Marty had requested the archived Goldberg files be couriered over first thing and as there wasn't much else to go on things were wrapping up for the day. Jim pushed back from his chair, rotated his shoulders hoping to relieve them of either the tension that they housed or the clammy dark gray shirt that clung to him in the late afternoon heat. It really was oppressive today; even some of the strands of his usually spiky blonde hair were flat and glued to his forehead. He swiped at them with his fingers making them even more wayward and mussed than usual. He hated feeling sticky like this but even more concerning was did he _look_ sticky. He never liked seeing guys with dark circles under their shirtsleeves and he wondered now if he looked as hot as he felt. 

Oh well, nothing to be done about it if he did. Maybe he should get Christie to get him some white shirts in for when it was hot like this he thought as he made his way to the locker room to get his bag.

White shirts. He used to wear them. Christie used to say how she loved him in a dark suit and crisp white shirt. Why didn't she buy them anymore he suddenly thought and where had all the ones he used to have gone? An uncomfortable idea started to take shape in Jims mind.

He reached the row of lockers before he thought he would, his knee striking the corner of the first metal locker with a harsh clang. Jumping slightly he silently berated himself for not concentrating, his irritation rising. What was wrong with him today? What was he thinking about that had him so consumed? Oh yeah, shirts. That was all. He shook his head, rubbed his smarting knee and opened his locker door.

Dumping his bag at his feet he closed the door and leaned his head forwards until it touched the cold metal. He sighed and bit his lower lip. This past week had seemed unusually hard he thought. Even today had turned into such a _long_ day. The locker door felt ice cold against the warmth of his forehead, so cold he could feel it almost burning into his brain making him light headed and a off balance, reminding him of a particularly brutal day at Lenox when two male nurses and a physiotherapist had forced him to stand up for the first time since the shooting.

"Hey, you OK?" Karen's voice pulled him out of his head and he turned to the side until his back leaned against the locker next to his.

"Yeah, great. It's just been a long week you know?" He replied, a sigh puffing out his cheeks a little.

"It's the heat." Karen replied simply.

Suddenly all the little things that Jim had absorbed during the week seemed to combine with the oppression of the heat and his throbbing knee and in one split second, like a fissure opening, his temper flared. Before he could censor himself he spat out "Yeah, that and being loudly patronized by an old guy, called impotent by a couple of assholes I never even met before, walking into a locker I _know_ has been here for the last year and realizing that my wife doesn't buy me white shirts anymore because I probably wind up looking like a four year old after an ice cream party when I wear one!"

Karen stared silently at Jim as she shifted awkwardly in the doorway. Listening intently he heard the swish of her hair over her shoulders and then, the almost imperceptible shift of someone else's weight next to her. Shaking his head slightly he said to Karen "You're not alone are you?" His voice resigned to what he knew he was going to hear.

"Nah, I was just heading out too Jim." Came Marty's' reply.

Rubbing his palm over his sweating brow Jim laughed mirthlessly. "And this has just capped the whole week off! Great day for you, huh Marty? You have a whole load of fresh ammo and I dumped it in your lap myself"

With that Jim snatched up his bag and limped towards the door, his hand held a little in front of him, hardly giving Karen or Marty the chance to move out of the way.

"I'll go after him." Marty offered.

"And say what Marty?" Karen demanded putting a restraining hand on his wrist.

"I don't know. _'Don't worry about it'_. _'Forget it, everyone has off days'_. I _am_ capable of being nice sometimes Karen you know" Marty snapped.

"Yeah, I know. I didn't mean anything but I think he's best left alone. OK? I'll speak to him in the morning." Karen soothed.

"Ok, Ok" Marty snapped as he held both his hands up in defeat before he walked over to his own locker leaving Karen to wonder what was with the pair of them.

* * *

What the hell just happened, Jim thought wildly? The rhythm of the train had calmed him down somewhat but he was still dumbstruck by the outburst he'd had back in front of Karen and Marty. Jesus! Karen would have been bad enough but Marty too? He really was his own worst enemy sometimes! 

Looking down he pulled off his dark glasses and rubbed his eyes. Hank shifted slightly at his feet and rested his head on his masters' knee. Jim stroked the smooth fur feeling his usual self-imposed calm descending once more. It must be all these sessions with Esther. She'd got him semi used to talking and now it seemed he had no control over his mouth. Scowling he shoved his glasses back on and listened for his stop.

When Jim walked into the apartment Christie watched him as he methodically performed the ritual of placing his keys and glasses on the hall table before unbuckling Hanks harness. Once freed Hank lowered his body, stretched and shook out his hot coat. Panting he slunk over to the desk in front of the window and lay in the shade, rolling onto his side.

"Christie?" Jim ventured

"On the couch." She yawned.

"I wish you'd just say straight away, you know." He complained, his voice tired.

She frowned a little. It was unusual for Jim to moan about that kind of thing anymore. When he was newly blind he'd snap if she failed to narrate her every movement to him in his desperation to keep a track of her in the room. After a while, once he began to trust his other senses he had backed off somewhat. She had come to understand that he only reverted to this type of behavior when he was tired or something was on his mind.

"Sorry." She said simply as she watched him cross their apartment, his hand grazing the kissing pole to check his orientation before he carried on confidently to their bedroom.

After a moment Christie followed him. He was sat on the edge of the bed pulling off his shoes and socks before he moved to start unbuttoning his shirt. Walking over to stand in front of him Christie gently placed her hand on top of his at he fiddled with the top button. Dropping his hand to his lap he let her carry on until all the buttons were undone.

"Tired?" She asked.

"Tired enough to let you unbutton my shirt." He smiled, taking her hand and kissing it. "You grab me some sweats and a T-Shirt while I finish up?" He asked.

"Sure." She replied as he rose to unbuckle his belt and drop his pants. He sat back on the bed pulling the dark gray suit pants from around his feet before laying them on the bed along side his discarded tie. He heard Christie's sharp intake of breath.

"It's a bad one huh?" He enquired "It hurt like hell when I did it."

"What attacked you this time?" Her voice was tight as she bent to examine Jims knee. "It's going black, you must have really whacked it."

"I did. Corner of a locker. Is it worse than the one on one with Marty's drawer or more like my most memorable dance class moment?" He joked, but Christie could hear the exhaustion behind his words.

"Well the 'Marty's Drawer' incident should have had stitches and 'Dance Class' just left a red mark so I'd say someplace in between Detective. You'll live."

"Yeah? My pride might not survive though." He laughed a little.

Gently she asked him, "What's wrong?"

"Do I still have any white shirts?"

"What?"

"White shirts, Christie, you know shirts that are white." His tone sharpened a little.

"God no!" Christie sounded horrified.

"Why?" He snapped, more harshly that he'd intended. Anticipating her answer his gut clenched.

"Jim, how can you even ask that? No one does white shirts anymore, not if they have any idea of style that is!"

His head dropped and he cracked a smile at her outraged tone and his own stupid self-absorption. She was genuinely offended by his fashion faux pas. He laughed.

"What?" Demanded Christie her brow knitted in confusion.

"Nothing. You just made me feel a whole lot better, that's all."

"Well why don't you try to tell me how you felt before my fashion advice?" She asked seriously.

"You know that time when Esther asked us to find a single word to sum up overall how each of us felt generally about our lives and I couldn't do it?"

"Yes." Christies voice was low and a little unsteady.

"Well it came to me on the ride home Christie. Most of the time I'm ok. I just get on with things, you know, the day to day stuff and I think 'yeah, I'm ok, I'm really doing ok with this' but then some days, like today nothing specific happens but I just feel …" He trailed off.

"Jim?"

"Sad. Just … sad."

Christie blinked back the tears that had formed in her eyes because she knew they wouldn't help any. Passing him his sweats and T-shirt she sat, silently, on the bed next to him whilst he dressed. Once he finished she rose, took his hands in hers and pulled him up.

"Come on. Help me make dinner?"

"Sure." He answered, grabbing her as she started to turn. "I'm happy when I'm with you though, Christie. I am, really." He said, nodding as he spoke.

"And I'm happy when I'm with you."

* * *

Jim must have fallen asleep as soon as he climbed into bed Christie realized. She had joined him only ten minutes after he had gone into their bedroom and already he was fast asleep. 

After they had prepared dinner together they shared a bottle of wine and Jim seemed to relax and lighten his mood somewhat. He'd asked about Christies day and she his and then they had agreed to avoid calling his parents back about some family get together than Jim didn't want to get dragged into. After nearly falling asleep in her arms on the couch Jim had decided to turn in even though it was barely 10.30.

Lying next to him under the light cotton sheet they had been sleeping under since the temperature had spiked, Christie rested her head on one hand and watched her man intently. As was usual for the summer months he was sleeping only in his pajama bottoms, _sexy pajama bottoms_ she thought as a smile played across her lips. Dark blue Ralph Lauren to be precise. She had picked them up for him a couple of weeks ago, of course the label was lost on him but they were good quality and felt good, which she knew for him meant everything. How clothes would feel against his bare skin was another consideration for her now when she shopped. Not that it was a problem. Christie loved to shop and loved Jim to look well put together – even while he slept.

He hadn't bothered to pull the sheet over himself, probably figuring she would do it when she finally came in. He was facing her side of the bed, laid curled on his side, one hand flat on the pillow next to his face. Leaning forwards she stroked the back of his hand and then moved her fingertips up to the side of his face, brushing his cheek lightly. Dipping her face down to his she planted a small, light kiss on the corner of his mouth.

He stirred a little.

"Are you _faking_?" She teased quietly.

No response. Christie let her fingertips trace down his throat and wander his taut shoulders. Moving her palm downwards she smoothed the soft hair on his chest and drew a single long finger nail around the circle of his nipple sweeping her hand down to the dip of his flat stomach until she found the drawstring of his pajamas. He was a beautiful, beautiful man she thought. He definitely looked very good for someone who had already died once. No, twice, she corrected herself, once in the ambulance on the way to the hospital and then again that night when he had just come off ITU. She gave her head a little shake to push those particular memories to the back of her mind.

She gave the drawstring a gentle pull and was about to untangle the loose knot when she suddenly found her wrist engulfed by Jim's strong hand.

"Are you assaulting an officer of the law?" He asked lazily, his eyes still closed.

"I hope so." She whispered as he rolled to his right allowing her to push him flat onto his back. Gently Christie kissed his warm, smooth stomach, her hand navigating the route of the knot in the cord at his waist. With the drawstring loosened Christie didn't waste any time in slipping her hand beneath the thin cotton of his pajamas. Quickly finding him she was happy to discover that they were _definitely_ both on the same page.

Jim ran his fingers through Christie's sleek hair. God she felt so good. Her hair, her skin, the way her lips danced over his chest, licking, sometimes biting his nipples playfully, her breath hot and sharp against him. He ran his hand down the back of her neck and gently urged he up towards him so he could kiss her face. Fumbling a little he planted a stray kiss on her eye, missing her mouth by a mile. He didn't care. He just wanted her. He wanted her so badly, like he had never wanted anyone before. Quickly she straddled him, her hands in his hair, leaning over him, pressing a deep kiss onto his lips.

His hands slid down her back over the glossy silk of her short nightdress, coming to rest on her buttocks. Giving her a playful squeeze he deftly grabbed the hem of the nightdress and in one fluid movement pulled it up and over her head, tossing it onto the floor. Christie leaned back down over him, her hair tickling his face, lips hovering above his as she moved her left hand downwards to find him again.

_She smells beautiful_, he thought. _She feels beautiful_.

The heat of the room had made their skin slick with sweat.

_Perfect._

Christie's hand snaked down his body.

_Like the day they met._

She kneeled up a little.

_Flawless._

She took him firmly in her hand.

_Complete._

She bent her head in a kiss, desire and tension pulsing through her whole body.

_Just stop thinking so much!_

"Christie?"

_Don't start thinking like this again!_

"Mmm" She breathed

"Wait." He caught her hand.

_Don't do it to yourself. Or her!_

"Is the light off?" He couldn't help but ask.

_There, you did it. Again. You think too much Jimmy, you know that?_

Her kiss didn't meet his lips and in an instant Christie felt all the passion in him fall as quickly as it had risen.

"I can turn it off." She ventured.

"It's ok," he shook his head a little, sitting up with her still in his lap.

Smoothly he rolled her off him and onto her back. Sweeping the sheet up over them both he leaned over her, kissing her gently on her mouth, his hand playing with her hair.

"Let me make _you_ feel good." He murmured as he slowly slid under the cover.


	5. Chapter 5

A Final Session

Chapter Five

The page came early. Too early for Tom, who hadn't gotten to bed as soon as he'd have liked last night. He'd stayed over at his girlfriends place. It was closer to the Art College where they took their pottery classes. Pottery classes they had now been taking for over a year. They never did get any better at it. Maybe if they paid a little more attention in class Tom smirked. His smirk died pretty quick though when he thought back to last night. Ms Argent their teacher had given them more than a little grief and Tom had been momentarily transported back to his high school days, which was not a pleasant experience.

"Mr. Selway, Miss Knight you are both aware that this class is Pottery 101 not Making Out 101 aren't you? You should be as this is your third run at this class." She had smiled openly in their direction as the rest of the class stifled muffled laughter. Both Tom and Stella had the good grace to look embarrassed and Tom was certainly not going to back chat the teacher.

On their way out as most of the other students left Ms Argent put a hand out to stop Tom. Handing him a weighty grocery bag she explained, "Double homework. There's enough clay in there for you two to work through as many 'Ghost' moments as you like and hopefully the modeling practice will allow you to graduate – _before_ I retire. Don't forget, keep it moist."

Tom looked at her blankly shaking his head a little, a 'what?' forming on his lips.

"The clay Mr. Selway. The clay." She sighed.

After his pager had roused him Tom headed for the shower and then quickly shrugged into his clothes before kissing Stella lightly so as not to waken her. Looking back to the bed Tom had to retrace his steps in order to kiss her again. She's so damn hot he thought shaking his head. Man was he in trouble. Was he ever in trouble!

* * *

"You wanna take a bit more time getting here Tom?" Marty groused as Tom neared the hallway outside the DOA's apartment in the East Village.

"What's up, you got a hair appointment you gonna be late for." Tom bit back, blowing into the Styrofoam cup holding his coffee. "I stayed over at Stella's last night and it's further over than my place."

"But you've got a different suit on from yesterday Tom. Are you keeping clothes at Stella's now?" Jim asked, joining in the conversation as he scruffled the fur on the top of Hanks head. "That's getting pretty serious isn't it?"

"Nah, I jus like spending time … Hey, how'd you know I have a different suit on?"

Jim folded his arms across his chest and leaned into Tom, "I'm a detective Tom." Jim answered simply his face serious.

"No, no. You're not getting away with that shit. How d'you know?"

"You guys can come in now" One of the SOC officers leaned out of the doorway and beckoned them in.

"Yeah, why we all standing in the hall anyway?" Tom asked.

"Tiny ass apartment and with us all in there and Mr. Magoo here not watching where he puts his feet we'd have messed everything up." The words were out before Marty could stop them and he bit his lip as soon as he realized what he had said. Jim as usual kept his face impassive.

"Shit. Jim I didn't mean that it just came out. Look, I'm an ass, I know. I'm really sorry." Marty stammered. With that fumbled apology Marty turned abruptly and walked through the apartment door.

Jim looked to where he knew Tom was standing.

"Did he just apologize to me?" Jim was incredulous.

"Sure did." Tom confirmed.

"_Why?_"

"I do not know Jimbo. I just do not know."

* * *

"Where's Karen?" Tom asked Jim once they were inside.

"I just called her. Problem with her pager. Didn't go off."

"Everyone's late." Tom stated with a shrug.

"No Tom. Not everyone. Jim and I can get our asses into gear. I got my kid staying again and Jim has the whole world and then some to go up against just to get up and out in a morning but we are here. On time." Marty stressed.

Jim was shaking his head when he heard Karen's voice. "We all arguing already?" She was hopeful that it was Jim and Marty giving each other grief but her hopes for a return to normality were dashed as Tom cut in.

"Nah, Marty and Jim are ganging up on me."

"Hey." Jim called over to Karen, relieved to get a diversion from Marty and whatever he had going on this morning. An uncomfortable thought had occurred to Jim. Was Marty being nice because of Jims' outburst yesterday? Was he feeling sorry for him? That was the last thing Jim wanted. Marty might be an ass and give Jim static but he never cut him any slack just for being blind. He treated him just like he would have treated any cop he didn't think could cut it and Jim found that oddly refreshing, an antidote to the sea of people whom he knew pitied him.

"What we got?" Karen asked "And what is that noise?" She gestured toward a half opened door situated on the other side of the small apartment.

"That would be a very hysterical wife who found her husband dead in the shower this morning." Jim supplied, his voice low. "EMT is going to give her a sedative and take her in."

"Same MO as Cedar?"

"More or less. DOA is one Jeff Flannery. Forty two year old white male. Found hanging from the shower rail. Tied with ropes around the wrists. Bruising to the face including marks from out friendly perps ring. Cuts to the torso this time as well as the final cuts on each wrist. None to the ankles though. Wife found a tray on the nightstand with a bottle of champagne in an ice bucket along with one champagne flute and a single red rose."

"Nice." Karen stated raising her eyebrows. It felt odd for Jim to describe a scene to her for once, odd but refreshing. She guessed Marty or Tom must have filled him in.

"Sorry about being late. I dropped my pager in a glass of water last night."

Jim laughed. "On purpose?"

"No, of course not. I had it on my nightstand and it got knocked off when I was fiddling with the buttons on the desk fan I got on there and it dropped into a glass of water I had by the bed. A proper Marx Brothers moment. I don't think it's gonna live. It's dried out but I think it's pretty dead." She shrugged.

They moved out of the way as the EMT boys escorted the sobbing wife out of the apartment and down the stairs.

* * *

Back in the squad room the four detectives had their work cut out for them. They had the notes they had taken on the Robson homicide, the notes they were about to start up on today's East Village homicide and a whole stack of archived records from 1PP for the Goldberg homicide from two years ago.

"Who gets what?" Tom asked fanning himself with his notepad "And is it getting hotter in here or is it my imagination?"

"The air con just stopped. Didn't you hear it?" Jim said simply, plugging his earpiece into his laptop.

"No. You can hear that?"

"All the time. It's really annoying." Jim informed Tom. "You _can't_ hear it?"

"Don't notice it really."

"We got all the notes from 1PP." Marty cut in. "Who wants 'em?"

"Me and Jim could take them." Karen spoke up.

"Wait." Jim held his hand up. "Are they typed or hand written cause my scanner can't do handwritten don't forget."

"Not a problem, we can still equal everything out with the stuff you can do." Marty cut in helpfully.

Jims' brow knitted and he looked over to Karen a bemused look on his face. Shrugging she answered Jims question about the notes.

"About half typed and half hand written." Karen mumbled, flicking through the stack on her desk. "I could start on them with Tom." Tom nodded in agreement.

"I'll chase up the Goldberg ME report then. That'll still be on the ME office computer system and I'll try to get the report from today pushed through." Jim said.

"I'll go over all the crime scene boys stuff and the canvass notes." Marty finished.

Karen stood up and stretched a little. "Coffee?" She asked Jim.

"Sure. I'll come with." He replied, pushing his chair back.

* * *

As soon as they were safely in the locker room Jim kicked away the doorstop and let the door swing to a close. Karen rolled her eyes. She'd never had so many sneaky meetings in here as she had had this last week.

"What's going on Karen?" Jim pressed.

"You mean Marty?"

"Yeah."

"What he do now?" She asked pouring a cup.

"This morning, at the crime scene he called me Mr. Magoo." Jim said running his hand through his mussed up hair, shaking his head at the same time. Karen let out a snort of laughter and then quickly apologized.

"No Karen, it's alright. It was kinda funny even for Marty. _Offensive_, but kinda funny. It's not that. _He_ _apologized_. As soon as he said it he called himself an ass and apologized!"

"Wow." Karen breathed. "Tom and I had noticed something. He hasn't given you grief for the last week or so. There's been other stuff too." She muttered.

"You mean as well as that weird comment just now about sharing the work I can do? Come on Karen, spill."

"Well Tom heard him almost put a couple of uniforms on a rip because they'd moved stuff about in here. He bawled them out over not thinking about other people and how if they were blind they wouldn't like stuff moving all the time."

Jim blinked in disbelief.

"And then last night," Karen carried on awkwardly, "You know when you blew up a little. He wanted to go after you to be, uh, nice." Karen shifted her feet.

"Why?" Jim asked.

"I have no idea and neither does Tom."

"I was worried it was after last night and that he was feeling, you know, sorry for me. Which I don't need!" He spat out. "But if you guys noticed stuff before then I have no idea either." Jim sighed.

"About last night Jim. What was up with that?" She asked gently.

"Nothing. I just .. It was a long day and sometimes all the little things just pile up."

"I'll bet." She said shortly. "So what do we do about the new Marty? Leave well alone or what?"

"Tom got any ideas?"

"He's reluctant to ask him to say the least." Karen laughed.

"OK. I'll give it a shot. If nothing else it might get him to start being an ass with me again and then we can all relax."

* * *

A half hour later in the squad Marty declared he was going to pick up sandwiches for lunch.

"Anyone want anything?"

Karen and Tom issued their orders while Jim sat back in his chair.

"You going to that new place on the corner?" Jim asked.

"Yeah. Thought I'd give it a try." Marty confirmed.

"I'll come along for the air, if you don't mind?" Jim stood grabbing up his cane.

"Fine by me." Marty muttered.

Once they were in the elevator Jim unfurled his cane, tapping it smartly on the floor to lock it into position.

"Why no dog?" Marty enquired.

"He's hot and a lot of these places don't like you taking them in. They'll let you but they don't really like it."

"Oh." Marty was quiet for a second. "You don't use that much." He nodded toward the cane and then realizing Jim couldn't see the gesture he added "The cane, that is. Why is that?"

Normally Jim would have avoided an answer but he wanted to try to get Marty talking to find out what was with him. He figured a good way to do that might be to be a little more open than normal.

"I hate using it." He replied simply.

"But you don't mind the dog?"

"Hank's different. With him at a glance I would hope I look...'normal'. The cane kinda slaps a massive handicapped label on me for everyone to see."

"And that's bad?" Marty enquired. "Being handicapped is _that_ bad?"

"I've had better hobbies Marty." Jim tried to lighten the mood but failed. "Look I am how I am now. It's never gonna change however much I wish it would. I can just about live with it but everyone else, the way they perceive me, that's hard. That's the tough part of a handicap. Not the thing its self. We're a pretty tough minority Marty. We get on with our lives but everyone else, they keep on stopping us." Jim breathed out, feeling he had gone too far, too deep but then the fluttering in his stomach calmed and he realized it wasn't so bad, sharing that with Marty. It wasn't so bad at all and if he used it against him later well then so be it.

They were silent as they left the precinct and made their way toward the end of the block. It was early; way ahead of the lunchtime rush and the street was pretty quiet leaving the scrape of Jims cane audible enough to make Jim feel uncomfortable. The noise must have been at the forefront of Marty's' mind too because after a moment he asked "You want to take my arm, like you do with Karen?"

Jim stopped short. "I don't think I'm quite ready to take our relationship to the next level Marty", he laughed, "It's moving kind of quick for me."

"All right." Marty laughed back. "We're here. Mind the step."

"I got it." Jim answered, the tip of his cane meeting the brick step. "How many?"

"Three."

Once inside they ordered and made their way to the front of the deli to wait at the tables set up there.

"So you want to tell me what's going on?" Jim asked slipping of his dark glasses.

"Nothings going on." Marty evaded drumming his fingers lightly on the tabletop.

"Marty?"

Jim raised his eyebrows. Marty's shoulders sagged and he shook his head.

"Alright. I had an epiphany if you like and I realized what a jerk I've been. Ok?"

"Come on Marty!"

Sighing Marty caved in. "It's my kid. Ok. Over the past few months he's been acting out. He's difficult for his mother, not so bad for me but for her …" He shook his head. "Turns out his grades are sliding so much he's virtually going backwards and the school says he's disruptive to the point of being excluded. So we agree to get him tested and it turns out he's got learning difficulties."

"Marty, I.." Marty cut Jim off.

"I pick him up from school the other day and he's got a bloody nose from some fight he apparently started and school say he's getting picked on. It's cause he's different, you know, he's not quite as perfect as all the other kids and they are never gonna let him forget it. Are they?" He questioned Jim.

"I'm sorry Marty. I don't have kids but I imagine this is hard to deal with."

"No, that's just it, it's not! Yeah it's upsetting and worrying but there's no dealing to be done. He's my son and I love him whatever he does or is but it's the other kids and their smart-ass comments. You know some of them have even called him in front of his mom! If I heard them do it I'd kick butts!"

"And this lead you to your epiphany?"

"Yeah."

"You know Marty, I get so tired of the people who feel sorry for me and want to hover over me, make sure I'm ok and I also get tired of the stupid people who are just out and out rude, make passes at my wife when I'm stood right by her, shout because they think blind means dumb or deaf or both. The people I don't get tired of are the people I don't get enough of and that's people who are straight with me. You're straight with me Marty. You talk to me the same way you'd have talked to me if you'd have met me before I was blind. You were straight with me about the gun, backed me on the Dyman deal because you believed I could do it, tried to help me find Hank and not because I'm blind but in spite of it."

"Your point is?" Marty pressed.

"Be yourself Marty. If you want to make sassy comments to me that's fine. Just be yourself. And the thing with your kid, it will work out. Sure he's gonna go through more crap than other kids but he'll come out the other side Marty without you going all PC on him. That's the worst thing you can do."

"You think?"

"I know. Honestly, if you're being as sensitive with him as you are with me at the moment he won't thank you for it. My mother still can't speak to me without a forced smile on her face. She can't laugh with me, joke around, she can't even say 'see you later' without apologizing and it is exhausting Marty. Don't do that to your kid."

Marty was quiet and Jim couldn't quite sense what the silence meant. After what seemed like an eternity one of the counter staff called their order and they both rose to leave, Jim bending to scoop up his glasses. As they neared the door Marty put his hand on Jims arm.

"Thanks Dunbar."

"No problem. I haven't forgotten the cowbells comment though. I should still knock you on your ass for that."

* * *

By the end of the tour they had noted, collated and compiled every bit of information on the three homicides ready to start drawing comparisons and hopefully finding a pattern. Both Tom and Marty had already left as Karen and Jim headed out.

"You talk to Marty?" Karen asked.

"Yeah. It's sorted."

"Do I need to know?"

"Nah, it was kind of a family thing. He'll tell you if he wants too."

"OK. You need a ride?"

"Drop me at Christies office?" He asked hopefully. "The train in this heat doesn't bear thinking about."

"Sure."

* * *

Christie wasn't waiting outside the glass high rise when he got there so Jim ventured in. He was a little early and their appointment with Esther wasn't until 5.30. Jim didn't really like going into the magazine offices. The acoustics were weird. The echoes in the reception area were too much and stopped Jim from pinpointing peoples exact locations whereas the heavily carpeted corridors leading to Christies large office muffled everything so badly that everyone who walked past him always made him jump, bearing down on him before he even knew they were there. On top of that were the receptionists. They were never the same from one day to the next so he never got anyone who remembered him. Because of this he was always met with an impenetrable stonewall when he asked for their Style Editor. She was high ranking and it was their job to protect her from cold callers, job seekers, wannabe writers and anyone else who tried to get through. Today was no different. As he walked up toward where he knew the reception desk was he heard a small polite cough, which was, he assumed to alert him to the presence of the receptionist.

"Can I help you Sir?" At least this one was polite. So far.

"I'm here to see Christine Dunbar."

"Do you have an appointment Sir?"

"No but if you could just call her." Jim couldn't resist. Sometimes he cut right to it and just said who he was but other times he played the charade just for the hell of it. To see which way it would go.

"She is _very_ busy." The girl interrupted curtly "And you shouldn't bring your dog in here Sir. I'll have to ask you to leave him outside."

"He's a guide dog." Jim said simply.

"Right." She said slowly, a superior smirk plain in her voice. "Are you here to enquire about setting up charity donations because the publication already has several good causes it supports." She said raising her voice presumably to make sure he could hear her.

Touting for charities. That was a new one and it took Jim by surprise. He almost laughed but swallowed it down. Taking off his glasses and putting them in his suit pocket Jim leaned forwards onto the marble counter top of the reception desk.

"You think because I'm blind all I could be here for is canvassing for charity?" He kept his face straight.

"No." The girl said slowly unable to stop staring at the mans' incredibly blue eyes as they drifted lazily down and away from her face.

"What's your name?"

"Elle." The girl replied warily.

"Well Elle, I'm James. Now we're on first name terms do you think that you could call up to your Style Editor and tell her that her husband is here?"

Jim was met with silence but could hear the sweep of long hair against smooth fabric.

"Are you nodding Elle? Cause you may have guessed that I kind of need words more than actions." He was unable to keep the smile from playing around his lips.

"I'll just call up." Elle said meekly.

Ten minutes later Christie walked into the reception area. Recognizing her familiar footsteps Jim rose from the chair he'd sat in as he waited for her.

"Ms Dunbar?" Elle called out to Christie. Christie stopped by the desk.

"Ms Dunbar, I'm sorry. I didn't realize that gentleman was your husband and I hope I didn't offend him I really didn't mean to." Elle whispered, twisting her fingers together nervously.

"You could always ask him if you offended him. He isn't deaf you know." Christie replied, not unkindly as she turned back to Jim and the glass doors of the high rise.


	6. Chapter 6

A Final Session

Chapter Six

_Jim stood under the cool shower, each of his palms flat against either side of the tiled wall his head dropped forwards to channel the jets of drumming water onto the back of his neck. This felt good he thought as he desperately tried to simultaneously wake himself up and cool himself down. A new day and no cooler he mused. He had slept well but it had been one of those deep sleeps that always left him feeling exhausted when he woke. He had been tired when he and Christie went to bed, probably because of the psychological beating he had taken in Dr Bergen's office. She had aimed for him like an excorcet missile but to be fair he had put himself in the firing line. At the end of the session Dr Bergen was pleased and said that they had really progressed. It didn't feel like it to him. He just felt wiped out. Christie seemed ok though. She'd even commented on the ride home that she thought they'd done well. That was probably because she'd not had to do much talking. She seemed tense though and he couldn't figure out if she was upset or .. or.. well, he couldn't figure out what she felt about what had happened and he didn't have the strength to ask._

Jim had tensed up as soon as they sat on the oversized couch. He felt like he used to at school when he hadn't done his homework. He held Christies hand for moral support. She must have felt his tension because she gave his hand a quick squeeze signalling her understanding. Jim wished he were somewhere else. He was too hot, had a mild headache coming on and his knee still throbbed from the whack it had taken on the locker.

"Right!" Exclaimed an overly cheery Dr Bergen, making Jim jump. He hadn't heard her come in. He must be really tired not to have noticed her he thought.

"Where did we leave off last week," she mused, more to herself than to Jim or Christie. Jim could hear her rifling through papers. "Yes, that's it. We were going to see if we had any thoughts on what was happening during your 'physical time' together. Did either of you _have_ any thoughts on this since our last meeting?"

Christie cleared her throat and Jim shifted uncomfortably on the warm, squeaky leather of the couch.

"Christie, lets start with you. Since last week have you and Jim connected physically. I don't mean sex just general day to day physical contact."

"Ah yes," Christie faltered, "We're usually quite tactile. Well, we didn't used to be but since Jim's been blind I always feel compelled to touch him whenever I can especially if we're talking. I like to stroke his hair, rub his back or even just put my hand on his arm."

"We never did that before, but I like it," Jim cut in, "I think I need Christie to do it, I never asked her, she just started it like she knew somehow. She's been amazing the way she's stuck by me through all of this."

Christie squeezed his hand again and carried on.

"And we cuddle a lot. We didn't do that much before either but we do now. We have two couches and god knows how many chairs but if we're just sat we always end up on the same couch." Christie laughed.

Good, thought Dr Bergen. Now they're relaxing a little we can really start. "OK, Christie. So have you and Jim tried to have sex since our last meeting?"

God this is so embarrassing Christie thought as she squeezed her eyes shut and took a breath. "Yes, we have." She muttered, her mouth dry.

"And?"

"It was.. It went the same way …you know." She almost snapped.

"And did you do as I asked and try to see if you could notice a catalyst? It doesn't matter if you couldn't but it may help."

"No I … it's not really what you're thinking about when you're just about to …" Christie stopped, at a loss for words.

"OK. Jim. Did you notice anything that might help us get to the bottom of this?"

"No I.. I wanted to and I tried but I couldn't. I can't even tell why. I mean it's so stupid!" He shrugged awkwardly, the guilt about putting Christie in such an uncomfortable situation starting to rise in him.

"What's stupid Jim?" Esther pressed on.

"This. It's so stupid. Here I am. I have a beautiful, perfect wife who loves me and wants me and I have to find some way to screw it up!" All Jims' anxiety about the session came to the surface as he struggled to keep his words under control. He wanted to resolve this but try as he might he really could not think what the problem was.

"I'm sorry, I.. It's been a long week." He smiled, holding his hands up a little, trying to get his feelings in check.

"Maybe we should take a few steps back …" Esther began saying but suddenly Christie interrupted her.

"You asked if the light was on." She said slowly. "Everything was ok and _then you asked me if the light was on._"

"What?" Jim said looking towards Christies end of the couch.

"Tell me what happened Christie?" Esther prompted eagerly.

"Everything was fine. We were kissing and everything was going fine. We both wanted to and then out of the blue Jim asked me to wait. Yes, that was it, he said 'wait' and then he said 'is the light on?' and that's when it all fell apart."

"Jim?" Esther prompted.

"I don't remember asking you that." Jim shook his head a little, concentrating hard to try to remember, his fingertips brushing his lower lip.

"You did. You definitely did." Christie affirmed.

"Why would it matter to you if the light was on or off Jim?" Esther continued. "Did you ask out if habit? Was it a preference before you were blind?"

"No. It never really mattered." Jim shook his head. "I can't remember saying …." He trailed off as a memory snapped back to the front of his mind. She had felt so good and he got that image of her in his head again. Beautiful, perfect Christie looking exactly as she had done the day they met.

"As you can't see Christie whether the light is on or off then do you think we might be safe to assume that you don't want _her_ to be able see _you_?" Esther concluded.

Neither Jim nor Christie spoke so Dr Bergen continued.

"Jim do you know what the most common word you use when talking about your wife is?"

Jim shook his head, his lips forming a narrow line.

"Perfect. In fact we've been in here fifteen minutes and she's racked up a 'perfect,' 'amazing' and a 'beautiful'."

"He always talks like that." Christie interrupted.

"Do _you_ think you're perfect Christie" Esther asked.

"God no!" Christie laughed, thankful for the break in tension.

"Neither do I." Esther stated. She carried on before either Jim or Christie could speak. "It must be hard Jim to stand next to someone so beautiful and perfect when you have such an obvious flaw." Esther's voice had a hard edge to it that took Christie by surprise. She was about to say something when Esther held her hand up to stop her.

"Don't you agree? Don't you wonder what other people think when they see you together? Maybe they're wondering what she's doing with you."

"Maybe they are." Jim nodded his voice hard and tense. "I don't care."

"You don't care? Of course you care Jim. Everyone cares about how they are perceived, even if they say they don't." Esther paused and then changed tack. "Do you know anything about any of Christies other partners before she met you?"

"A little." Jim was terse.

"Fill me in."

Jim let out a loud sigh, his cheeks puffing out a little. "From stuff her sisters told me she went for jocks, athletic types. Always blond."

"Real 'men's men' stuff hm? Alpha males" Esther noted.

"Yeah."

"And then you."

"And then me." He nodded, a caustic tone building in his voice.

"Blond, athletic. Cop. Another 'mans man'. Do you think you're a 'mans man' now Jim?"

"What? I don't… What?" Jim felt confused like the gist of the conversation was skittering from his grasp. He felt disoriented and panicky in the pit of his stomach. What was all this crap? He didn't think about what he had been once because there was no point. Why revisit the old Jim. The new one was fine, different but fine, a nicer guy even, not the usual for Christie but nicer.

"I just wondered what you think Christie sees now? What other women see when they look at you?"

"Other women don't look at me." He stated bluntly, shaking his head, the strength of his conviction stunning Christie.

"Don't they? They used to didn't they?" She didn't let him answer "Why wouldn't they be looking at you know Jim?"

He didn't say anything. This conversation had him tied up in knots. He needed control over it to stop it somehow or turn it around he just didn't know how. It was going the wrong way and he didn't want to talk about this anymore but she was relentless.

"Would Christie look at you now if she didn't know you?"

"Yes… No I .. " He almost shouted, "I don't …"

"Would you want her to look at you Jim? If you were meeting for the first time now would you want her to give herself to you for the rest of her life?"

He wanted to say yes, wanted to get back to feeling calmer and put an end to this line of questioning that Esther was on but before he could stop himself he said "No." Then louder " No." He swallowed hard but he couldn't stop himself losing the last thread of control he had left. Words finally spewed from his mouth, his voice raised and hoarse, "I wouldn't want her to.. to see me like this or even know me like this at all. I'd want her to have a real … a proper …Someone who can protect her, sleep with her, raise kids with her, even just tell her that her damn dress looks nice. A real …." Jim swallowed again the panic in his gut fizzing and rising dangerously.

"A real what Jim?" Esther left the words hanging in the air. "A real 'man'?" She finished.

That was it. Jim felt his blindness close in on him like it hadn't done since the first few days after waking in the hospital. He felt the isolation it brought keenly as he searched on the low table next to the couch for his glasses; they nearly fell to the floor as he groped clumsily for them. Once they were in his hand he snapped his fingers for Hank.

"We're done here right? We have to be done here. Christie?" He stated hoarsely as Hank shook himself, his tags rattling around his neck.

"Jim." Esther said gently placing her hand on his. He jumped involuntarily. Esther had never touched him before and the feel of her cool hand unnerved him.

"You know," He said, "one thing they should teach kids in school is not to just touch blind people. It's alarming, dangerous and disrespectful." He spat reciting one of the Lighthouse tips for the sighted interacting with the blind. As soon as he said it Jim regretted both the words and the tone he had taken with Esther. However she felt though, she didn't remove her hand.

"Jim, I can't let you go like this. Please just sit a while. No more talking." She rose and made her way over to her desk where she pressed an intercom on her phone. "Edward can we have a carafe of iced water and three glasses in here please?" She asked and then came to sit back down.

"You did well Jim. You may not feel it right now but you did really well. We've uncovered some pretty dark feelings you have buried in you and now we have them in our grasp we can work on sorting them out." She said gently. "I think you have an unrealistic image of Christie in your head that is too good for the image you have of yourself and it's stopping you from being with your wife." She turned to Christie. "How would you both feel about coming back tomorrow evening?"

The door to the office swung open and a young man entered carrying a tray with the water and glasses. He set the tray down on the low table by Jim, poured water into each glass and then left as Dr Bergen thanked him.

Esther continued "It may seem a little intense to have another session so soon but I think it would be a good idea in this case. If you don't feel up to it you can cancel."

"Jim?" Christie ventured leaning over him as she picked up of the glasses and touched it to the back of his hand.

"Ok" Jim nodded as he took the glass. He'd have agreed to anything if it would get him out of Esther's office.

* * *

He fell asleep in the car on the way home and Christie had to wake him once they reached the apartment. He didn't feel like eating but he knew Christie would worry if he skipped dinner so he agreed to another take out. 

"Thai or Chinese?" Christie asked.

"Chinese." He replied.

By the time it had arrived he actually felt a little hungry and the two beers he had drunk had helped to ease his tension a little. They sat on the floor leaning against the red leather couch with the food spread on the low coffee table in front of them and as they ate they settled into a conversation more easy and comfortable than he had ever remembered them having.

By some unspoken agreement they didn't talk about what had happened at the session they just took time being with each other, eating, laughing, Christie holding his hand, Jim rubbing his hand in small circles at the bottom of her back. When they finally went to bed Jim lay, curled in Christies' arms, where he fell into a deep and heavy sleep.

* * *

_The warm air of the bathroom shifted slightly but Jim had been so deep in thought he wasn't sure if Christie had just opened the door to enter or leave the room._

"_Christie?" _

"_Who else would it be?" She laughed as she opened the shower door slightly to peek at her husband. "I'll be leaving in about ten if you want dropping off. It's a hot one again. The F train will be like a meat wagon!"_

"_Ok. Sold!" He smiled. "I'll be ready."_

_In ten minutes Jim was ready, dressed in dark blue suit pants and deep blue shirt, his blond hair still damp and mussed from the shower. He shrugged into his suit jacket as he patted his thigh for Hank. Bending to fasten Hanks harness he listened to Christie gathering together her purse and briefcase._

"_I was thinking," Christie started, "That we could cancel Esther's appointment tonight."_

_Jim struggled with the harness as Hank, uncharacteristically, ducked out from under it. "Hank stay." Jim commanded before turning back to Christie. " Why?"_

"_I just thought you might want to."_

"_Do you want to cancel Christie? I know it was really bad and I really don't want to go over it again but I need to resolve this. I'm dreading it but I think we need to see this one through Chris." He looked down slightly as he spoke not knowing his eye line was a little off hers._

_She nodded, her lips pressed together in a line. "I didn't want to cancel really but yesterday seemed really hard on you and I want you to be ok."_

"_I think I will be. If we see this through, I really think I will be." He said turning back to his dog, slipping the stiff harness over his back and fastening the buckles._

"_Ok." She said lightly as she opened the apartment door._

_

* * *

_As they pulled up outside the precinct Jim leaned over and kissed her. 

"I have an off site meeting this afternoon so I'll see you at Esther's ok?" She smiled at him.

"OK. See you in front of the firing squad at 5.00." He joked as he stepped out of the car.

Christie watched him as he and Hank made their way toward the entrance to the precinct. He'd disappeared from view for a good minute or so before Christie managed to break her gaze. Blowing out a deep breath she leaned her head forward onto the steering wheel and closed her eyes. "This is so hard," she thought to herself, whilst, almost unnoticed, a tiny seed of self-doubt took route beneath the other thoughts in her head.


	7. Chapter 7

A Final Session

Chapter Seven

Jim let go of Hanks harness as soon as he stepped out of the lift doors. He loved the squad room almost as much as he loved the apartment. That feeling of freedom, the confidence of knowing where things were, was like having a 'Get Out of Jail Free' card that no one else knew you had. For a few short moments he was liberated from everything that tied him to the spot, Hank, the hated cane, Karen's' arm. True, if he went too far he'd be out of the range of his knowledge and have to rely on something or someone again but for those first few moments, out of the lift doors and to his desk, it was almost like flying.

"Morning Jim." Toms voice floated over from the area of his desk.

"Hey Tom. Karen in?"

"Getting coffee. You want some?"

"Yeah, thanks."

Jim opened his briefcase and slid out his laptop. Opening it up he plugged in his earpiece and felt for the back of his chair.

"Don't get comfortable. Boss wants us in his office as soon as Marty gets here." Karen said setting her mug on her desk a little louder than intended making Jim turn away from her voice and towards the sound of the mug.

"Problem?" He asked raising his eyebrows.

"No he just wants to go over the case. On account of us getting nowhere – still!"

"It'll break Karen. They usually do."

"Some don't. They never close and you have this black mark on your record _forever_." She huffed.

"Isn't this Marty's case?" Jim quipped.

"You have a mean side Jimmy Dunbar. Anyone ever tell you that?"

"They used to." He laughed.

"Marty's here." Karen supplied. "We'd better go face the music."

Five minutes later the four detectives filed into Lieutenant Fisks office.

"Where are we at?" He demanded, "Cause I got the Chief of D's on my back already this morning and it isn't even 10am yet."

Leaning back against the closed door Marty began filling the boss in.

"We got three homicides. Two fresh, one nearly two years old. All three victims are male, mid thirties to early forties. All married, no kids. Decent jobs, no debts, no significant enemies. All killed in their homes but nothing stolen. Partners drugged to keep them outta' the way but none of them assaulted or harmed at all. The injuries on two of the victims are very similar. Lots of facial bruising. Lots of small cuts to arms, legs and or trunk. Killed by a single deep cut to each wrist. The DOA from two years ago had the facial bruising but none of the cuts. He was killed by a couple hundred sleeping tablets it looks like he was made to swallow. ME report suggests that the assaults started hours before the fatal injuries were inflicted. The way the spouses were drugged, the tying of the victims and the identical ring mark bruising to the faces tie them all together. That and the weird breakfast thing this nut is doing for the wives. All we're short on is any link and suspects." He groused.

"And what do we think this guys motive is?" Fisk cut in.

"He's a whacko." Marty sighed.

Jim cleared his throat as he leaned forwards onto the back of the chair Karen had sat in.

"He has no motive that's apparent apart from he obviously does not like the husbands but cares about the wives. He drugs them so they don't interrupt. He ties the husbands up and has every opportunity to assault the women but doesn't. He is thoughtful toward them in his mind because he makes coffee for them, leaves flowers, _nice stuff_."

"Killing their husbands is nice?" Karen interrupted.

"Obviously to this guy, yeah, it is. I think he must have some real beef with these guys 'cause he takes his time. The small cuts on the last two DOA's were malicious. Like he's angry with them or something. He tortures them and then when he's ready he kills them."

"What about the Rosenberg guy? He wasn't cut and apart from the bruising to the face our perp hadn't laid into him as bad?" Tom said.

"Yeah. It's almost as if he went easier on this guy. Cut wrists gotta hurt and contrary to what you'd think they're not always quick. The sleeping tablets though, apart from the initial getting them down, are quite painless. You'd slip into a deep sleep and never know the rest." Karen theorised.

"So he's got a bigger beef with vics two and three?" Fisk stated.

"Looks like it. We just need to find out what the beef is." Jim said. "We've got Estelle Goldberg wife of victim number one coming in soon. Karen and I are gonna see if she can give us anything."

"And we're talking to the third vics wife, Anna Flannery. We got a call from one of the neighbours we canvassed saying she used to hear a lot of arguing a while back." Marty stated.

"OK keep me posted." Fisk huffed. "Oh and the air cons down again. You probably noticed, so it'll be a hot one."

* * *

All four of them groaned collectively as they made to leave the small office. Once seated back at his desk Jim snapped his fingers in Hanks direction. When he didn't feel his dogs' head resting on his knee Jim tapped his thigh. After a moment Hanks nose nudged Jims hand. He leaned forwards until his forehead brushed Hanks ears.

"Hey, what's up? Too hot?" Jim asked gently as he scruffed the soft fur on Hanks neck. Hank whined a little and lay back down.

"Karen?"

"Right here."

"Does Hank look OK to you?"

"How do I tell? He looks like Hank. Hot, but like Hank." She replied.

It hadn't occurred to Jim that he would need to tell Karen how Hank usually was. He knew how his dog usually _felt_ to him but that was it and it was virtually impossible to translate that into words. He had to try though.

"I think he _seems_ a little off. His nose feels warm to me and he's a little slower than usual. Normally I need a pretty firm grip on his harness, he's a big dog, but today he just doesn't feel as _strong_."

Karen wheeled her chair over to where Hank lay and bent down to him.

"His eyes are a little dull. Usually they're real.. um ..glittery, and he hasn't drunk any of his water yet. He's usually had a fair bit by now hasn't he?"

"Yeah. I'll see how he goes. He may need a trip to the vet."

Hank whined when he heard the word. Karen laughed, "I don't think he liked you saying that."

"He doesn't. He acts like a baby when we have to take him." Jim smiled and shook his head a little. Behind the smile though Jim was worried. He felt so strongly about Hank that anytime he thought the smallest thing was wrong he got a knot of anxiety building in his stomach.

"Hey. I'll keep an eye on him too," Karen offered, "And if we need to go to the vet we'll go. He'll be fine."

Jim nodded, feeling a little put out that Karen had just read him so easily. He must be slipping in his ability to hide his feelings he thought.

Suddenly they were interrupted by a voice. "I'm looking for Detective Bettancourt? I'm Estelle Goldberg."

* * *

They settled into interview room one with Jim leaned against the windowsill and Karen sat in a chair opposite Estelle.

"Congratulations." Karen said, a little awkwardly. It seemed odd to be saying those words to someone whom they wanted to talk to about their murdered husband.

"Thanks." Estelle said happily.

"Karen?" Jim seldom felt confused during interviews but he sure did now.

"Oh sorry Jim, Ms Goldberg is pregnant."

"Don't tell me I still just look fat!" Estelle burst, looking at Jim in amazement. "I thought I was past that stage." She sounded despondent.

"I'm sure you are Ms Goldberg and I'm sure you're blooming but I can't see you." Jim stated evenly.

Estelle looked at Karen a confused expression on her face.

"My partner is blind Estelle." Karen said.

"Oh. Sorry, I didn't realize."

"Shall we get on with what were here to talk about?" Jim asked. "We know this is probably something you don't want to go over again but we need to talk to you about your husband."

"Have you got a suspect?" Estelle demanded sharply.

"No we don't but we have had some leads pop up and wanted to compare what we have with what happened two years ago." Karen said. "Tell us about your relationship with your husband. As much detail as you feel you can go into would be good."

Estelle took a deep breath and began. "Michael and I met at school. Our families knew each other." She smiled a little, "Tight knit Jewish community, everyone knows each other! Our story isn't exciting or complicated. We met, we fell in love and even though we were both sixteen we knew that we were gonna stay together, get married, you know, the usual stuff. I went to college to study accounting and Michael worked with his father in their jewellery store. Once I finished college we got married. Michaels father renovated the apartment above the store for a wedding present and we lived there. When Michael's dad died he inherited the store and carried on running it. I worked freelance and did the stores books as well as my other clients accounts."

"Did Michael gamble at all Estelle?" Karen asked carefully.

"No! He didn't do anything like that. He never bet, didn't drink, never fooled around. We were good together."

"There was never any trouble between you? Something you may have confided in someone else about? Jim ventured.

"Who've you been talking to?" Estelle snapped.

"Who should we be talking to Estelle?" Karen asked quietly.

"Nobody. Look Michael and I did have a rocky patch and our families became involved. They made it worse than it was but we got through it." Estelle sighed, shaking her head.

"What caused the trouble Estelle?" Karen pressed.

"We wanted children and it didn't happen. We did all the usual stuff at first. You know, healthier diet, no drinking but still nothing happened. My mom damn near drove us crazy. 'Be patient Estelle', 'It takes time Estelle', the usual bull. Anyway we _were_ patient but it never worked so we had fertility tests and it came back that Michael was infertile. That was it. No kids for us. We were devastated of course but in a way my dad took it worse. I'm an only child and now he wasn't gonna get any grand kids. He was a good man Detective Bettancourt but he was upset for himself and for me. Family is everything to us. He would never have said it but I knew he wanted me to leave Michael. Michael knew what he was thinking and it hurt him but not because he was offended but because he felt the same. Like I _should_ leave him and find a real man – _his words, not mine!"_

Jim blinked behind his dark glasses.

Estelle glanced up towards Karen as she continued. "It didn't finish us though. We got through it. I persuaded Michael to go to a therapist with me and we worked through it. It was a hard time for us but we fought back and won. That's why it's so unfair, what happened. It's just so unfair." Tears began to trickle down Estelle Goldberg's cheeks as she struggled defiantly to keep her feelings at bay.

"We sorry to have brought all this back up for you Estelle." Jim said gently as he reached into his pocket for his handkerchief. Passing it to her he asked, "When is your baby due?"

She smiled a little, "Three months. Michael's probably laughing at me somewhere. I'm not with anyone right now. I did have a kind of casual thing with a guy. He was nice but not the settling down type. I had my settling down guy and I don't believe you get that twice. Anyway, I thought I'd just have a good time with him but I didn't really think about contraception. Michael and I never had to worry." She shrugged. "I'm happy though," She smiled, " It's all I want right now."

* * *

Karen and Jim were getting coffee in the locker room when Marty and Tom walked in.

"How'd you go with Mrs Flannery?" Karen asked as she absently sucked on the stirrer she'd been swishing around her coffee cup.

"Nothing much." Tom answered, "She's calmed down a lot but it was still hard to get much sense out of her. Like our other vics according to his wife he had no enemies, just a regular guy. He'd had a bit of an alcohol problem years back which had threatened to rear its head again a month or so ago, which is what the arguing was about, but they nipped it in the bud and all was well."

"Our perp left her champagne right?" Said Jim, his interest peaking. "Like he wanted her to be able to enjoy what her husband couldn't? He might have known the victim, knew he had a drink problem."

"Right." Marty snapped, "That doesn't exactly give us a narrow band of suspects. The wife says his whole family knew of the problem, he went to AA and was very open about his 'illness'."

"What about crossing the GA group Robert Robson went to with Jeff Flannery's AA group?" Karen suggested. "It could throw up someone who was involved with both."

"Could do," Jim cut in, "But how does that tie Michael Goldberg in? He had no issues with alcohol or betting."

They were all quiet for a moment.

"It's all we got, might as well give it a try." Marty sighed.

As Karen and Tom left the locker room Jim heard Marty walk over to the coffee maker and heft the heavy glass carafe off the stand.

"Marty, do you have a pen and paper on you?" He asked.

"Yeah." Marty answered, a little puzzled.

Jim ran his palms over the counter top next to the coffee maker. "Could you set them down here? I want to give you a name and a number of someone I know who works in the Education Authority. She specialises in working with kids with dyslexia but she knows the system and has a lot of contacts when it comes to children with learning difficulties. You don't have to contact her I just thought if you needed to, you know.."

"Thanks Dunbar." Marty said, "Thanks. You could just tell me the number and I'll write it," He offered as he slapped his note pad and pen on the counter top loud enough for Jim to locate it.

Jim shook his head. "There are some numbers I can only remember as I'm writing them down. I've always been the same, you know like some people remember numbers in sets of three first and then sets of four and if they don't say them like that they get all mixed up?"

"Yeah!" Marty agreed. Watching as Jim felt for the edges of the page made Marty feel uncomfortable, worse still as he slowly turned the pen around in hand, his fingers feeling for the lid before he carefully popped it off and slid it onto the end of the pen.

"I'm in the centre of the page right?"

Marty took a moment to realise Jim was speaking to him. "Yeah, dead centre." He watched as Jim wrote carefully.

"Can you read it?" Jim asked.

"Yeah, it's fine." Marty said as he looked at the name and number written at an upward slope on the page. "Catherine Dunbar?" He questioned.

"She's my cousin. She's nice. Nothing like me so you'll like her." He said over his shoulder as he made his way out of the room.

As he rounded the corner he nearly bumped into Karen as she hurried the other way. "What's the rush?" He asked.

"Hank. He just threw up all over the floor."

* * *

Karen sat in the cool waiting room of the vets' surgery waiting for her partner. She tipped her head back and stared at the white painted ceiling. Expensive looking waiting room, water cooler, filter coffee and quiet air conditioning that actually worked! This must cost a fortune to bring an animal here she thought. Not like the local guy she took her rabbit to. He worked out of his back room and all the local kids took every stray they found to him. From the look of his place he kept most of them. Not that her rabbit needed the vet that often. Only when he chewed stuff in the apartment and made himself sick. She smiled to herself as she wondered what he was chewing up whilst she sat here.

As she was lost in her thoughts Karen didn't hear the door to the surgery open.

"Karen?" Jim called.

"Yeah. How's Hank?" She asked, a little nervously as Hank hadn't reappeared with Jim.

"He has a temperature and he's dehydrated, so they want me to leave him here while they keep an eye on him. Just over night while they start some antibiotics and fluids." He sounded worried.

"Will you be OK without him?" She asked.

"Sure, I'll use my cane." He replied as he pulled the cane from his briefcase and started to unfold it.

"I didn't mean like that. You're so soft on that dog Jim, I can see you're not happy about leaving him and not just for selfish reasons."

He laughed a little, "You know growing up I never had a pet and I didn't know you got so attached to them."

"You're right about that. Do you want a ride home? It's just past five now, there's no point going back to the squad."

"Christie and I have another appointment with our couples therapist. It's only round the block so I'll make my way there. Thanks though."

"No problem. See you tomorrow. Maybe we can come back and get Hank. Fingers crossed."

"Yeah. See you tomorrow."

* * *

Jim arrived at Esther Bergen's office early. As he entered the plush waiting room he made his way over to the receptionists' desk, which he knew sat opposite the door.

"Can I help you?" Said an unfamiliar voice. Esther's usual secretary sounded like an older woman, her voice reminding Jim of his own mother. This new voice was male and young.

"My wife and I have an appointment with Dr Bergen but I think I'm early." As he spoke he slipped the elastic strap of his cane over his left wrist so he could flip the crystal of his watch to check the time. "Fifteen minutes early!"

"If I can just take your name?"

"Dunbar."

"OK take a seat Mr Dunbar. Would you like a drink whilst you wait?" The young man asked politely.

"I'm good, thanks."

Jim sat in one of the leather armchairs positioned near the doors opposite the desk. Leaning back in the chair he realised he could feel the sun on his face. There must be a window in here he thought, directly opposite the door and the chairs. He'd never spent much time in the outer waiting room before mainly because he was usually late for their appointments.

Whilst Jim sat waiting for Christie, Edward Mellor carried on diligently with his work. He didn't often work here, he was usually across town at the other office the partners ran. He didn't mind the occasional change. He liked coming over here and working with Dr Bergen and Dr Armstrong. It was better at the other place with Dr Melrose and Dr Wilson though because they let him do more than answer the phone, file stuff and make coffee. As a filing clerk he wasn't allowed to type up the regular notes but on a couple of occasions when they had been short staffed Dr Melrose and Dr Wilson had him type up some of the case notes they used when they had one of their special inter-office forums. He hadn't been asked to do that here yet but he was hopeful that either Dr Bergen or Dr Armstrong would trust him enough to ask him.

Edward liked typing. His father had said it was a talent he'd gotten from his mother. Something in his fathers' tone told him that it wasn't meant as a compliment. Despite his fathers sneer at his skills Edward did like typing. He liked his job. He liked peeking into peoples' lives and here he had a legitimate reason to do it.

He looked across at the man in the chair again. He was here yesterday he remembered. He'd taken water in to him and his wife. He couldn't really remember the wife though. He'd been concentrating on not spilling the water or dropping the tray. He didn't want to mess up and Dr Bergen made him nervous. He didn't know why. She just did. Suddenly Edwards' attention was caught by a flutter of light that skittered across the desk and over the wall adjacent to it. It was the sun, catching on the face of that mans watch as he flipped it open and felt for the hands.

Edward was intrigued. He'd never met anyone blind before, didn't realize they had Braille watches. It felt odd to sit here and be able to stare as openly as he liked with this man not knowing. Odd but he _liked_ it. It was like he was invisible, a fly on the wall. A bit like being God he thought idly. Lights danced on the wall opposite. Edward glanced down at his own watch seeing the sun flash across its face and the face of his ring. He angled his wrist making a circle of light swim across the wall above the mans head. He moved his wrist down slightly the bright circle catching the mans sunglasses. The glare would have made anyone else shift in his or her chair. Not him though. He really couldn't see a thing. Edward let the disk of light settle on the centre of one of the black lenses and left it there even as his wrist began to ache at being held in such an odd position, like it used to ache when he was a kid holding a glass over ants in the back yard. He almost laughed. He could do anything and this guy wouldn't know. He could stare and study all he liked and he _wouldn't_ know.

Jim leaned forwards a little and rolled the cane vertically between his palms, grinding it into the deep pile of the carpet. He wished Christie would hurry up. He was pretty sure the secretary guy was staring at him and it was beginning to make him feel _very_ uncomfortable. Suddenly he heard the outer door push open and Christie rush in, the tap of her heels immediately lost in the plush of the carpet. Relief swept over him and he rose quickly to greet her.

The woman who had just entered the outer office mesmerized Edward. She was beautiful. Stunning even. Absently he buzzed for Esther. "Your 5.30 is here Dr Bergen." The man folded his cane and took his wife's arm as she led him toward where Dr Bergen had emerged from her office. Look how she leads him, Edward thought. He wondered what else she had to do for him. Did she help him dress? Shave even? She probably did everything around their home ….

"Edward," His reverie was broken by Esther's voice. "Could you bring us some coffee please?" She smiled.

"No problem Dr Bergen. No problem at all."

* * *

A while later, after Jim and Christie had left, Dr Bergen picked up the phone and dialled the number for practices other office.

"Hi Marie. Can you put me through to Andrea please? Thanks."

She waited a moment until she heard the familiar voice of her co-partner Dr Andrea Melrose.

"Hi Esther. Are we set for Friday?" Andrea asked her old friend and colleague.

"Sure. I've got a really interesting case file for us to discuss. They're coming to the end of their sessions and I consider them a real success. You'll like the new techniques I used with them. I lifted some ideas from that conference we went to last summer, remember?"

"I can't wait. Anthony won't be free until 6.30 is that OK?"

"Sure. Max and I will be with you at around six." She assured her colleague.

"Are we sad Esther, that we get excited about going over interesting cases out of office hours?"

"No sweetie, we're dedicated to our work." Esther laughed. " I have to go or I won't get the notes typed up in time! See you tomorrow."

With that Esther Bergen hung up the phone, gathered her notes and headed for the outer office.

"Edward? Dr Melrose has had you to type up forum notes before hasn't she?"

"Yes." Edward replied seriously.

"Can you do these ones for me for tomorrow? I know I've left it late I'm sorry to put pressure on you." She smiled.

"No problem Dr Bergen. I'll get them done for you. No problem." Edward smiled, truly happy as he grasped the proffered notes in his pale hand.


	8. Chapter 8

A Final Session

Chapter Eight

Jim stood at the breakfast bar pouring he and Christie a mug of coffee each. It felt strange to walk around the apartment knowing Hank wasn't watching his every move. He'd already tried to ring the vet but it was early and no one was picking up. He'd give it another five minutes. He was struggling with the wait though; patience had never been his strong suit.

"Here you go." Christie said as she put a plate down next to him. "Toasted bagel."

"You having something?" He asked.

"Yeah. I have a little time."

"Christie about yesterday with Esther …" He started.

"I told you last night Jim I'm not ready to talk about it." She started struggling to keep control of her voice.

"But…" Jim managed before he put his palm up to cover his mouth.

"Don't you dare laugh Jimmy Dunbar." She cried as a snort escaped from his lips "Don't you dare." She started laughing too.

"Did she _really_ say the F word? I mean I thought I may have imagined it but …"

"No Jimmy you didn't imagine it. We are responsible for driving that nice mature lady to use the language of a soldier."

"Hey, we watched our language in front of women! I'm offended by that comment on behalf of all the military."

Christie was still laughing as she shook her head.

"Did you understand what she meant?" Jim asked shaking his head.

"Well her suggestion was that we step back and look at sex for what it really is. What did she say? A basic animal instinct. And you had to stop looking at me up on my pedestal and stop idealizing things."

"_Right_." He nodded slowly, "That was just before she suggested that for the time being we should stop viewing it as 'making love' and that I should just f…"

"JIMMY" Christie cut in, drowning out his next word. "I'm traumatized enough by Esther saying it. Please don't make me relive it." She paused for a moment. "Although seeing you at a complete loss for words _was_ funny. I don't think you spoke again for the rest of the session."

By this point Jim had lost control and was laughing hysterically, tears trickling down his face. Laughing with him Christie looked over at her husband as he almost choked trying to take a bite of his bagel as he continued laughing. She used to be embarrassed by the way he laughed. For such a tough guy he had quite a high pitched, throaty laugh, which once it got going he couldn't stop. Today though it was good to hear she realized. He hadn't laughed like that, really thrown down and laughed, since he was shot.

Once he had regained control she sat down on the stool next to him, leaned into him and kissed him on his temple.

"What was that for?" He asked smiling and raising his eyebrows at her.

"Nothing. Just cause I wanted to. You going to ring about Hank?"

"Yeah." He nodded.

"I have to get going. Call me and let me know how he is?"

Jim put his arms around his wife's waist and pulled her to him "Have a good day." He said simply as he ran his hand through her hair before letting go.

* * *

Marty had arrived early at the squad room, his adrenalin running on override as he immediately began rifling through the files on Toms and Karen's desks. He wanted to go through Jim's reports too and the wait for his laptop to boot up was just too damn long. "Where are those guys?" He muttered under his breath. A little voice in his head reprimanded him for being annoyed with the others "you're in early, they're not late." it sang at him. He pulled out a sheet from one of the files on Karen's desk and placed it next to his laptop with one of the sheets from Tom's files. Sitting heavily in his chair he turned his attention to his computer screen. As soon as he could he accessed the network and found Jims report on Michael Goldberg. He squinted as he scrolled down through the notes suddenly stopping and scrolling back up a way. "Gotcha." He breathed.

Printing out the sheet he grabbed it up from the printer and placed it with the two sheets from the other files. He pulled out a lime green highlighter and made a couple of marks on each page and then sat back with a satisfied look on his face.

* * *

Jim had just been approaching the precinct when he heard Tom call out to him. He stopped and waited for the other detective to catch up.

"Hank still sick?" Tom asked as he nodded toward the cane in Jim's hand.

"Yeah. I called the vet and he's picking up a bit so they're happy with him but he has to stay another night. It's just a virus. Nothing too bad." Jim shrugged as they continued down the sidewalk, his cane taping from side to side.

"Still, you're missing him I'll bet." Tom stated.

"Yeah."

They walked into the squad room just as Karen was shrugging out of her jacket and making to hang it on the back of her chair.

"I've been waiting for you guys!" Marty huffed as he appeared with a mug of coffee in his hand. "I think I got something."

As they settled at their desks Marty filled them in. "I had to go to another school thing with my ex and my kid last night. He's not doing so well and we had to go sit down with the school counselor and see what's what. Anyway Marty Juniors got some problems that are gonna be long term so she suggests to me and Julie that we all get family therapy and I'm bitchin' and moanin' afterwards to Julie about having to do this thing that I _really_ don't think we need to do and she says to me "Marty, _everyone_ is in therapy. What's the big problem?"

Marty finished and looked expectantly at his three colleagues. Karen and Tom looked bemused but Jim had a faint frown on his face.

"And you put that together with Karen's idea last night about the AA and GA meets." Jim stated.

"Yup." Marty looked smug. "And I was pretty sure I heard you mention the Goldberg's had couples therapy at one time."

"Right." Jim nodded. "Do we have a name for the Goldberg's shrink yet?" Jim asked Marty.

"Not yet. I thought you could call her when you got in and it wasn't so early." Marty said.

"Do you want to let me and Karen in on this or should we take the day off and let you two hold hands and finish this?" Tom snapped.

"They were all in or had been in couples therapy. It's the _only_ thing they have in common." Marty supplied. "I checked the Robson's and they were under a Dr Andrea Melrose and the Flannery's were with a Dr Anthony Wilson. They are partners in the same practice on the Upper East Side. All we gotta do is find out where the Goldberg's' went but I'd put money on it being the same place." Marty breathed, his excitement clear.

"The perp is getting their details through the practice and his issue is with the men who have problems that the wives have to cope with too, either addictions or like Michael Goldberg infertility. Maybe that's why he wasn't as vicious with Goldberg. The infertility wasn't something he could control whereas to our perp the gambling and alcoholism has an element of choice about it." Jim speculated.

"I'll call Estelle Goldberg." Karen said grabbing up the phone.

Karen was aware that all the attention was on her as she spoke to Estelle. She could feel them willing her to hurry up so she could fill them in. As soon as she put the phone down Marty was on her case.

"What did she say?" He snapped

"Ok, Ok! She and her husband didn't see Melrose _or_ Wilson. They saw a Dr Nathan Wechsler and he has a practice over in New Jersey." She said.

Marty looked crestfallen. He'd been so sure they would have gone to at least the same practice even if they didn't have the same shrink.

Jim cut in "Hang on. Why did they go all over to New Jersey to see a shrink when they live on the Lower East Side?"

"They didn't." Karen replied smugly. "Dr Wechsler used to be a partner with Melrose and Wilson before he sold out and built a practice on his own a year ago."

"Karen!" Marty fumed. "I don't need messing with like that." He snapped as his face split into a satisfied grin. "So here we are with our victim link!"

* * *

Marty and Tom sat in the dark paneled office of Dr Anthony Wilson. Marty shifted uncomfortably in the outsized leather armchair. "I think I'm in the wrong profession" He commented to Tom. "Looks like you can make some serious money in this game."

"I can't really see you as a therapist Marty. At least not with any living clients." Tom laughed.

"Are you saying I can't be sensitive?" Marty smiled across at his partner.

At that moment the door opened and a middle aged man in a dark blue suit entered proffering his hand.

"Detectives. I'm Dr Wilson. How can I help you?"

"We're investigating three homicides sir and each of the victims have been clients of your practice at sometime over the last two years." Marty stated.

"Oh God. You're kidding?"

"No, we're not." Tom cut in.

"Whatever I can do Detectives, just name it."

"We'd like a full staff list of everyone who has worked in this office over the past two and a half years, the names of everyone who might have access to client information and a list of all your clients from the past two years to date." Marty said. His gaze at Dr Wilson was a no nonsense one that the Dr knew he couldn't argue with.

"There are client confidentiality issues here you know."

"We're dealing with an active serial killer Dr Wilson now I'm sure your clients would rather be protected than not. Of course all their details will be kept confidential." Tom said evenly.

Dr Wilson's brow creased. "OK." He turned to the computer on his desk and located the relevant files, which he opened and printed off. He explained the sheets as he passed them over.

"Employee records. We have a good staff record Detectives; apart from a couple of temps that come and go from time to time we've had the same staff for the last three years at least. The key is to treat them well." He smiled across at Tom and Marty. "They are also the only people who have access to client details." He pulled off another set of sheets, leafed through them and handed them over. "Clients from the past two years. You'll see from the list that against each client there are basic notes made. They _are_ basic though, such as 'Emotional Issues', 'Alcoholism', 'Drug Addiction'. If you want _full_ notes we'll have to go into the archives we hold."

"This should be ok for now." Marty nodded, grabbing the sheets and rolling them into the palm of his hand without looking at them.

"We'll be back if we need anything further." Tom said.

"No problem. Here's my card. My out of hours number is on there in case you need it." Dr Wilson smiled at them. "I'll see you gentlemen out."

* * *

Back at the squad they started the task of going through the employee lists Dr Wilson had passed on. There were seven employees in the practice in total and between them they had interviewed four of them including Dr Wilson. So far nothing had popped up. None of the staff seemed to fit the profile of a serial killer but as they consisted of two fifty year old secretaries and a late teen who job shared the filing in between painting her nails it was hardly surprising. All they had left was Wilson's partner Dr Melrose, the job sharing file clerks counterpart and the sixty-year-old janitor who had been with the practice for the last six years and was currently visiting family in California. They had contact numbers lined up for Melrose and the clerk and decided to hit them tomorrow.

It was already getting too late to start trawling the client lists but Marty began anyway. The sheets showed line listings for every client the practice had, current cases and those that were closed. The details were set out on a spreadsheet format with the first column showing forenames, the next surname, the next gave address details followed by a column for dates of birth and then notes. After all that information there were two final columns one populated with numerical codes that Marty didn't see a key for and the last column which was left empty.

He found the DOAs names easily on the first couple of sheets and looked across from the names to find the brief annotations 'Alcohol addiction' next to the Flannery's, 'Gambling Addiction' against the Robson's and 'Emotional Issues' against the Goldberg's. Looking quickly down the pages he saw roughly sixty similarly tagged names.

"We got sixty other possible victims here at least." He yawned as he turned to Karen and Jim.

"If that's the case why hone in on those three? What made them special?" Karen queried.

"Who knows." Marty stifled another yawn. "Lets call it a day and start fresh in the morning."

"Sounds like a plan. I'm outta here. Stella and I are going clubbing." Tom grinned as he rose, grabbed his jacket and walked toward the lifts.

"On a school night?" Marty called after him.

Karen and Jim pushed their chairs back and gathered up their things. Jim was about to leave when he realized Karen was hesitating a little.

"You ok?" He asked.

"Yeah. I just gotta go see the boss about a new pager." She sounded despondent.

"And that's bad because..?" Jim questioned.

"Because it'll be my third in three months and he said next time I have to pay for my own. It's not the cost, I just feel.. stupid."

"So what is it you keep doing to these things Karen?"

"Well this one got a bit wet and the last I stepped on and I can't remember about the first one OK!" She muttered.

"Tell you what partner I'll help you out," Jim laughed. "Take mine and I'll go ask for a new one."

"Isn't yours like a special one or something?"

Jim unclipped his pager from his belt and handed it to her. "No, you just have an extra button to press for an audio message that's all. We'll sort out switching the numbers when I get my new one."

"Thanks." She mumbled.

"Not a problem. Hey Karen," he called back as he headed to Fisk's office, "Don't break it."

She laughed as she headed out. Marty followed her but not before he grabbed up the client notes he'd got from Dr Wilson. He might as well read them tonight, see if anything jumped out at him. He was damned if he was going to have an unsolved case on his record he thought firmly.

* * *

Marty woke with a start. He'd gotten home at around seven and after taking a shower to cool himself down he'd stretched out on the couch and flicked on the TV to see if he could find a game to watch. After that he couldn't remember. He swung his legs over the side of the couch and sat up, running his hand through his hair. He checked his watch 2.30am. Damn, he hadn't even eaten and it was too late now. Mind you he thought, he felt wide-awake _and_ hungry so what did it matter what time it was. He made his way into the kitchen and yanked open the refrigerator door. Pulling out a dish of cold pasta he grabbed a fork from the drainer and slouched back to the couch. As he sat and started to eat his attention drifted back to the stack of curled sheets on the coffee table in front of him. With his free hand he spread the sheets out and leaned over to study them.

"Whose next?" He muttered to himself as he forked through the pasta in the dish. His eyes scanned the pages left to right settling on the final two columns. He wished he knew what this numerical code meant. The column header read 'STATUS' so he guessed that meant whether they client was current or closed. The column was populated with either a 1,2 or 3. He had the idea that 1 was current, 2 meant closed and 3 could be somewhere in between or maybe 'on hold'. He shook his head. He'd get hold of Wilson in the morning and find out. He should have scanned these when they were in Wilson's office he thought, annoyed with himself for not bothering. He had Wilson's card though. Was it too late to ring him? He decided it definitely was and went back to the notes. As he flipped through more of the pages something caught his eye so quickly that he'd lost it before he realized and had to shuffle back through the sheets to find it again. He was sure he'd seen something in one of the cells in that empty last column headed IOF. There! He hadn't imagined it. He looked closely at the column. One of the cells on the sheet he was looking at had a tiny gray asterisk in the center. He looked up and down the sheet but there were no more, just that one. He flicked through the other pages. There were no more that he could see until he reached the line for the Goldberg's. He flipped through the pages to find Flannery and Robson. They had them too. "Shit!" Marty whispered under his breath as he rifled clumsily back down to the page where the fourth asterisk had been. He found it and looked across to find the names and address. "What?" He said to himself. The name and address fields didn't contain actual names and addresses but what looked like a reference number for name and just a zip code for the address. Looking down the page it seemed that the last forty or so records were the like this.

Marty felt his stomach clench in a knot as he dumped the pasta bowl onto the table. He had the next vic, he was sure about it. He rose and hurried to his bedroom where he grabbed his pager from his nightstand. Quickly he issued a message to his colleagues, pulled on his trainers and grabbed his gun, badge, cell phone and keys before he headed for the door.

* * *

Across town a couple of hours earlier whilst Marty had slept comfortably on his couch Jim had been tossing and turning in his bed. The cotton sheet he and Christie were sleeping under had wrapped itself around him and finally won the campaign to wake him up. Carefully he untangled himself and swung his legs over the side of the bed, turning his head from side to side giving his neck a satisfying crack. Even though he was only wearing pajama bottoms he was still too hot. He felt on the nightstand for his watch, flipped the crystal and touched the hands lightly. 12.30. He'd only been asleep for two hours. He groaned to himself wondering how he was going to get back to sleep now. Standing he quietly made his way to the bedroom door and opened it gently so as not to wake Christie. He stepped into the living room with the idea of getting a drink of water.

Jim didn't reach the kitchen. He didn't even get as far as the couch before a hand shoved him roughly between the shoulder blades causing him to fall forwards onto his hands and knees, the floor, as always, catching him by surprise. He didn't cry out, cop instincts didn't kick in; he didn't even have time to try to stand before a wet cloth was pressed over his nose and mouth and he fell flat onto the cool wooden floor.


	9. Chapter 9

A Final Session

Chapter Nine

Jim felt vaguely nauseous and his back and shoulders ached. He lifted his head up and blinked, the tiny movement causing the nausea to rise threateningly. Where was he? He felt disoriented. He couldn't clear his head and he really wanted to close his eyes again and go back to sleep but a persistent voice in the back of his head told him to stay awake.

He could smell coffee and the aroma helped to pull him into place in his surroundings.

He was in his apartment sitting on the floor, leaned up against something cold, his legs stretched out in front of him. His arms hung down by his sides, each palm flat on the wooden floor. When he tried moving forwards he found he couldn't. Something was wrapped around each of his wrists. He could reach out behind himself to some extent though and as he did so he felt the cool surface of one of the kissing poles that ran from floor to ceiling in the middle of their living room. Continuing to feel behind him he felt thick, rough rope looped tightly around his right wrist then snaking around the back of the thick pole finishing in an equally tight loop that encircled his left wrist. The length of the piece of rope meant he could keep his hands at his sides but not move them forwards enough to feel for anything and the width of the pole meant his hands couldn't reach back to meet each other to get to the knots. He knew that was the case but tried anyway, the rope biting into his skin as he twisted his hands back.

"Don't do that. It's quite rough rope and you'll only hurt yourself." A calm voice told him as he heard the scrape of a chair being pulled in front of him and a mug being set down on the floor. "I'd hate you to hurt yourself."

There was an edge of sarcasm to the voice that made Jim's skin prickle.

"Where's my wife?" Jim asked, trying to keep the note of fear out of his voice.

"Sleeping." Came the calm, almost distracted reply. Jim could hear papers shuffling and then something snap shut and the sound of a button being pressed.

"I'm here to help you James. Is it James? Or do you prefer something else."

Jim didn't answer. He listened intently, trying to place the voice.

"It doesn't matter. I was just being polite. I'll stick with James. I'm here to help you. I've helped other people before. I'm _very_ good at it." The voice was matter of fact.

"If you want to help me why don't you try untying me and getting the hell out of my apartment." Jim said carefully.

"Well that would be no help at all would it? You really shouldn't be rude you know. I've made such effort to come here tonight and you're not grateful." While he spoke Jim heard the man move softly from the chair and stand at his right side.

Without saying anything further or giving any warning he balled his fist and backhanded Jim across the side of his face. Jim's head snapped to the side and blood spattered softly onto the floorboards from the cut forged just below his right eye by the sharp edges of the large silver ring the man wore on his right hand. Jim coughed, his eyes watering, breath catching in his throat. Amidst the pain exploding in his cheek and the burning sensation across the bridge of his nose he finally placed the voice.

"You were at Dr Bergen's office. You work there." Jim gasped, fighting to even his breath out.

"That's right. Edward. Now we're introduced shall we start?" Jim heard him take a swallow of coffee and set the mug back on the floor. A slight creak told him he was sitting in the dining chair he had dragged up.

"I help people who can't help themselves James. I see you and I know you need someone like me."

"To do what?"

"To help you see your life for what it really is, to help you step back, let go and let others live happily, free from the burden of _you_."

"Others?"

"First we need to talk about you. I have Dr Bergen's notes but why don't _you_ fill me in?"

Jim didn't answer. His mind was racing. The perp they were chasing had links with Dr Wilson's practice not Esther's. How was this guy linked to them both? What had they missed, had it been staring them in the face all the time?

"No? OK I'll start. It only takes one to get a ball rolling!"

Edward's tone was frighteningly cheerful and Jim knew from his decade of experience on the job that there was no reasoning with this kind of killer. Those who killed for money or drugs could be reasoned with. They would usually bargain to help themselves out but the ones like Edward? No. Nothing was logical in their world. There was no bargaining to be done. All he could do was hope that when he didn't turn up at the squad tomorrow that they would come looking for him and hopefully he wouldn't already be dead. That was a slim hope though and he knew it.

"Let's see, ha, sorry. No pun intended James. You're blind. Have you always been blind?"

"Doesn't it say in your notes?" Jim answered tersely as he lowered his head down awkwardly to wipe his jaw onto his shoulder. Something, which he assumed to be blood, was running down his face and the tickling was distracting him.

This time Edward's movements weren't so careful as he jumped from the chair and leaned forwards over Jim, once again backhanding him. That really hurt, Jim thought as he struggled to raise his head, more than the last one. There was something hard on the back of Edwards hand that cut into Jims face with the first blow and connected viciously with the second.

"I want _you_ to tell me, so answer my question." Edward's voice was hard.

"I've been blind for a couple of years." He said thickly, running his tongue over his teeth, feeling for blood.

"How?"

"I was a teller. I got shot in a bank robbery." Jim lied knowing that for this guy to find out he was a cop wouldn't help any. He could only hope the notes Edward had either didn't specify his job or that he hadn't read anything that alluded to it yet.. He couldn't believe the job wouldn't be in there. They had talked about it a lot at the beginning of their sessions with Esther. Suddenly another thought sprung up in his mind, probably because he was thinking about the job, and it wasn't a pleasant one, Anne Donnelly. Shit. Jim realized that if this wasn't about him being blind then the situation was gonna get a whole lot worse.

Edward snapped his fingers. "Hey, stay with me champ. You kind of zoned out a bit there. Not going to pass out are you? We're only just starting. Getting back on topic, you got shot and blinded and your wife stood by you?"

Coughing Jim replied, "Yes."

"So you trapped her?"

"What?"

"You trapped her. She didn't choose to marry a blind man she had one forced on her. Don't you feel guilty about that?" When he was met with silence Edward carried on. "You could answer or I could hit you again. It really is your choice." His voice was smooth.

"Sometimes, yes." He answered quietly.

"Sometimes yes what? Say it out loud James. It's you that needs to hear it not me."

Jim gritted his teeth. "Sometimes I feel guilty."

"It must be like caring for a child, having you."

"It's not like that." Jim stated hating the lack of conviction in his voice. This guy was really pushing his buttons and he knew it. He would know exactly what to hone in on wouldn't he if he had access to Esther's notes?

"What does she have to do for you?"

"She doesn't _have_ to do anything for me." Jim answered flatly.

"Really? She doesn't dress you? Pick out clothes? Help you shave?"

"You know, funnily enough, no. I can do those things myself you ignorant son of a bitch!" Jim snapped, instantly regretting his temper as he felt the hand connect with his face once more. This time the connection was lower down and the force drove his lip hard into his teeth and Jim felt blood begin to flow freely.

"I don't appreciate sarcasm James." Edward was silent for a moment before he spoke again. "Why don't you go ahead and spit that out?" He asked referring to the blood pooling in Jim's mouth.

Jim spat onto the floor, the blood on his taste buds reviving the nausea in his stomach.

"So, she doesn't have to do things for you. Do you go out with her?"

"What?"

"Well, I know you can leave your apartment James. Do you go _out_ with _her_?"

"Of course I do."

"Without your dog?"

"Sometimes."

"And she leads you?"

"She guides. She knows how to be a sighted guide."

"And if she steps away from you? Moves out of arms length. What would you be able to do then James?"

"I'd use my cane." He answered stubbornly.

"What if you didn't have it?"

"I always have it." Jim lied.

"But if you didn't? Imagine for one second that you didn't have it. What could you do without her or your dog or your cane? What James? Your life is a prison and those three things are your jailers. She doesn't want to be a jailer, James. She wants to be a wife." Edward sneered.

Jims head was splitting and he felt dizziness overcoming him in waves. He had no idea which way to jump. If he agreed with this guy, played the role subserviently he'd soon be headed towards the sleeping pills or the slit wrists, but if he kept this up what then? He wasn't sure how many more hits like this he could take. He did have an idea though, a stupid and probably painful one but still it was an idea. If he riled the guy again so that he hit him he could play possum for a while, make like he was knocked out just to buy a little recovery time and some breathing space. He figured Edward would stick to his pattern and want to resume his questions so he'd wait for him to wake up. The idea formed, he didn't have to wait long for Edward's next line of questioning.

"She's really very beautiful your wife. She could have her pick of men. Men who aren't damaged like you are. Men whom she can share everything with, do everything with." He took a deep breath. "She looks very stylish your wife. She'd probably enjoy galleries, traveling, theatre – and you can't enjoy those sorts' things with her James, can you? Another man could. A whole man could. And what about family James? A woman like that, she would have beautiful children. But with you, well, think about it. What help would you be? You couldn't even tell her that they had her eyes. But we're jumping the gun aren't we? We're assuming you could even give her children considering you haven't been able to perform for the last two years." Edward goaded.

Deep inside his gut Jim's temper flared and he didn't have to play act to find something to say to annoy this guy. What he said came from the heart.

"_Fuck you!"_ He spat out as he coughed on the new pool of blood filling his mouth. That did the trick. Edward lunged out of the chair and over to Jim his arm raised and his fist clenched. By this point though Jim felt so angry he couldn't control himself enough to stick to his plan. Edward hit him and pain exploded in his nose as he felt it crack and hot blood gush from it down his lips and chin. Instead of feigning concussion Jim looked up and spat towards where he figured the guy was. Edward moved back a little but not before Jim raised his knees keeping his feet together and jabbed with all his strength in Edwards direction catching him in the stomach and shoving him backwards into the chair behind him. Jim heard the coffee mug skitter across the wooden floor and Edwards body land on the chair before it tipped to the side with a loud crash.

For what seemed like an eternity the apartment was dead quiet. Jim could only hear his own ragged breaths and nothing else. Then his stomach clenched in fear as he heard the chair scrape on the floor as Edward stood up. Gingerly Edward raised a hand to his head and felt through his thick black hair. He could feel something sticky and when he brought his fingers down he saw that they were streaked with blood. Tears clouded his dark eyes.

"You kicked me!" He was incredulous. "You kicked me?" He shouted sounding like a petulant child. He was over by Jim's side in an instant, keeping well away from the range of his legs, rage filling every molecule of his body. Standing over him he drew his hand back, clenched his fist and lashed out, again and again until the rage subsided and Jim was out cold.

* * *

By the time Marty reached the squad room it was close to 3.30. Karen was there her head resting on her desk. 

"This better be really good." She mumbled not looking up.

"It is. Tom and Jim in the locker room?"

"Nah. Just me." She still had her head on the desk.

"Karen!" Marty shouted. "Come on let's get some coffee on and ring Tom and Jim. We might need a full house to work through this." He said more gently.

She looked up and caught Marty's serious expression.

"I think I found a link to the next victim but there's no name so I need to get a hold of Wilson and find out who it is."

"Show me." She demanded.

Marty spread the sheets over his desk, took out his highlighter and marked the three DOA names and then marked the fourth line of data to have the asterisk in the final column.

"What does IOF mean?" Karen asked.

"No idea. Another question for Dr Wilson." He replied as he pulled out the business card from his jeans pocket and grabbed up the phone. He tried all the numbers before giving up. Dr Wilson couldn't be raised at any of them.

"You left your cell number and the squad number Marty. He'll call. Lets go and brew that coffee and I'll try Tom and Jim."

"I paged them both same time as you." Marty huffed.

"Oh." Karen looked sheepish. "I have Jim's pager. He has my broken one."

Marty sighed, "And Tom is out clubbing. He'll never hear it until throwing out time." It's just you and me kid. Oh well, we'll just have to collar this guys ass without them."

"I'll try Jim's cell in a minute." Karen offered as they walked towards the locker room.

An hour and three mugs of coffee later Karen and Marty were still waiting for Dr Wilson to call back. Marty was running his details to get an address, determined to reach this guy whatever it took whilst Karen tried Jim's cell phone for the second time.

"Still not picking up?" Marty asked.

"Nope. He always picks up." She shrugged.

"Well we're not getting anywhere without Wilson calling us back so there's no point pulling Jim and Tom in anyway." Sorry for dragging you out. I just got a bad feeling about this guy and I don't want to wind up with another DOA if I can avoid it." He was saying as his desk phone burst into life.

"Russo." He snapped.

"Detective Russo." Came the sleepy voice of Dr Wilson. "I'm sorry I didn't pick up. The ringing woke me but I couldn't find my cell. My kid was playing with it and hid it in the closet. I just found it."

"No problem." Marty answered as he pressed the hands free button on the phone base so Karen could listen in. "Look, the client list you gave me has thrown up a link with our three victims and a possible fourth."

"Who?" Wilson interrupted.

"We can't tell. The name is missing. Around forty or so of the records on the last pages just have a reference number and no names."

Wilson groaned down the phone. "They must be details from our other office. They use a slightly different system on their paper work where they use reference number instead of names. We should stream line but.."

Marty cut him off. "You have another office?"

"Er yes." Wilson answered uncertainly.

"With staff that we don't know about and haven't checked?" Karen pressed.

"I didn't think. I'm so sorry." Wilson blurted. "My partners Dr Bergen and Dr Armstrong run it but they only have three staff, themselves and a secretary. The address is printed on my business card if you still have it."

"We need that client name now Dr." Marty demanded. "Can we meet you at your office?"

"No need. I have a computer in my study and I have remote access to all the client files. Let me set it up."

It seemed like an age waiting for Dr Wilson to access his files, listening to him as he scrabble around his office flipping switches and opening drawers. Whilst she waited Karen asked Marty for Dr Wilson's card. As she listened to the open-ended phone line she studied the card, reading the office addresses. She was about to toss the card back onto her desk when she stopped and re-read the practice addresses. "Marty," She started at the same time as Dr Wilson began to speak and Marty held up his hand motioning her to wait.

"I'm in the file Detective Russo. What do you want me to search for?"

"It's a single record which has an asterisk in something called the IOF field."

"Inter-Office Forum. It denotes if we have used certain aspects of those clients' issues for clinical discussions between the partners. We don't do many. Never get the time! What's the reference?"

"EB4299/JCD." Marty gabled the number as he looked across the page to read the brief note 'Emotional/Disability Issues.'

"Marty!" Karen cut in while the light tapping from the phone indicated Dr Wilson had entered the number. "I know this place." She waved the card at him. "I've dropped Jim off just around the block from here!"

"Detective, I have the client name." Wilson voice crackled down the line.

"Go ahead." Marty replied as he looked at Karen's worried face.

"It's Dunbar. James and Christine Dunbar." Came the disembodied answer over the line.


	10. Chapter 10

A Final Session

Chapter Ten

Jim was aware that someone had placed their hand gently on the side of his head and was stroking his hair. The side of his face burned, his stomach lurched unpleasantly and he felt cramp in his knees but that didn't matter. All that mattered were the gentle fingers and how calm they made him feel. "Christie?" He muttered. It was the kind of gesture she would make, tousling his hair, caressing his temple when he was stressed. She always knew how to relax him. Those fingertips relaxed him now. "Christie?" He could smell her perfume. It made him want to cry.

"Wake up." A gentle voice whispered. The fingers disappeared. "Wake up James." The voice was harder now.

Suddenly swirling memories of where he was came to him through a heavy veil of throbbing pain. He licked his lips and tasted blood. He tried to raise his head but it felt too heavy. His right knee, the one he had whacked on the locker, was pressing painfully onto the wood of the floor and he realized he was no longer sitting but kneeling and something was twisted around each ankle. Rope. Just like his wrists he realized. Rope was fastened around his right ankle, looped behind the kissing pole and then fastened around his left ankle.

"Just to stop you kicking me again. You do understand, don't you James?"

Jim tried to open his eyes but he couldn't. He wanted to go to sleep so badly but that little voice was back in his head telling him not to, telling him to stay with it. Focus.

"I'll tell you what James, I think we're nearly done here. I'll just go check on our girl, make sure she's sound asleep, and then I'll be back."

Nearly done? Jim's mind raced as he struggled to gather his thoughts. Think. Just think. How much time did he have left? The others… the other vics had been held all night by this guy and he finished it in the early hours of the morning, so how much time did he have? Could he string this out any? He could hear Edward's soft footsteps moving towards the bedroom door. "Wait." He breathed. Edward stopped. "What time is it?"

Edward moved back towards Jim. "Is there a clock in here James? Tell me where I might _see_ a clock and I'll tell you the time."

Jim thought hard. There _had_ been one he was sure, a wall clock that Christie had picked out. She'd said it was by some designer that he couldn't remember but now, like the ceiling fan in the bedroom, he couldn't be sure where it was or even if they still had it. He swallowed. Now that the notion of finding out the time was in his head he couldn't let it go. He knew it was macabre to want to know so desperately how much time he had left to live, but he had to find out, had to have some control, even if it could only be gained by knowing how soon he was going to die. He was desperate to know and he had an idea of how to get Edward to tell him. He'd try pushing _his_ buttons for a change.

"I don't know where the clock is. It's one of those things that … my wife always does for me." He said weakly

"Unless you have your special watch on." Edward replied.

"Right, but without it I'm lost Edward."

Edward paused, silent for a moment and then turned to head for the bedroom. "I'll help you. Don't worry." He said over his shoulder.

He had left the room, Jim was sure of it. He listened intently, trying to hear a noise that could tell him Christie was ok, that Edward wasn't hurting her. _Stop_, he said to himself. That wasn't this guy's pattern. He didn't hurt the women. Jim turned his head sharply as he heard Edward return, the movement sending waves of pain and dizziness over him.

"Sleeping like an angel." Edward said almost to himself. "I have something for you James."

Jim heard Edward's footsteps as he walked over to his side, heard the rustle of fabric as he knelt next to him. He felt something touch the back of his fingers, a gesture Jim associated with someone wanting him to take something they had. His fingers flexed instinctively, his movements hindered by the tight rope he could only awkwardly raise his hand, not search forward. He swallowed down a mixture of anger and humiliation and pulled against the rope desperate to feel ahead of him.

"I'm holding it above your hand. You can reach up. Come on, take it from me." Edward's voice challenged.

"Set it down by my hand and I can get it." Jim replied, wincing as the cut on his lip stung viciously.

"No. Take it from me."

Normally Jim would do anything to avoid groping around whilst someone stood by and watched but the desire to anchor himself to something concrete like the time was overwhelming, forcing him to swallow his pride.

"It's real close James." Edward encouraged, his arm aching as he crouched down holding the watch. Staring as this man struggled painfully against the pole and the rope in order to raise his hand, only to find empty space, gave Edward that same God like feeling he had experienced in the waiting room the day before. He held everything this man wanted in his hand. It was such a small thing, just to know the time, and he _needed_ _Edward_ to help him do it.

Arbitrarily he decided he'd give him just a few seconds to reach his goal. Just a few more seconds to reach up and if he didn't connect with the watch he wouldn't let him have it. It would be a shame though Edward thought, because in a way he was really rooting for James to come out on top and find the dangling watch. His breath caught in his throat as he watched the shaking hand move tentatively up through the air and jerk to a stop when the rope refused to slide up the kissing pole any further. He almost cried out as the fingers stretched up as far as they could against the pull of the rope looking like they would fall short of their goal by a mere fraction but then the rope slid a little further upwards and in an instant the searching fingers connected with the dangling strap and the watch was snatched away.

Once his watch was in his hand Jim put his palm flat on the floor, the watch safely cupped beneath it. He didn't trust Edward not to grab it so he fought the urge to immediately flip the crystal and feel for the hands. He couldn't have Edward take the watch after the monumental effort it had just taken to get it. He was aware that he was sweating and his shoulder muscles had cramped painfully against being forced back unnaturally just so he could raise his arm. After a moment he heard Edward stand up and sit back in the chair. Only then did Jim move his fingers to wedge the watch against the side of his hand whilst he awkwardly flipped the crystal with his thumb. His fingers were shaking so much he couldn't tell what he was feeling. _Calm down, _he commanded himself. He took a breath, steadied himself and felt for the hands. He exhaled sharply his head bowing a little. 4.45. It was nearly time.

As Edward watched Jim's fingers lightly brush the hands of the watch he turned his head away and closed his eyes. Swallowing hard he said, "I think this is getting out of hand and I really don't want to hurt you. You don't deserve this to be hard. Some do, but not you. You can't help how you are."

Jim heard the chilling rattle of pills as they tumbled around a pill bottle.

"You're just holding her back James. She can't be fully happy with you; you _can't_ take care of her, protect her and give her what she needs. Do it for her James. Take the pills. I'll help you and then you'll feel better."

Jim coughed and shook his head. "No." He managed.

"For her James. I can't let her suffer like this."

"No" He said again, his voice a little stronger.

"Please?" Edward whispered.

Jims temper rose. "You don't know anything about me or us." He spat. "My wife chooses to be with me because she wants to be. _I_ contribute as much to our marriage as she does. _I_ support her as much as she does me. She has as many faults as I do. I'm not perfect but _my_ life has value! Those other people you've _helped_, their lives had value!" He gasped, surprising himself with the conviction he heard in his voice.

Edward was quiet for a moment as he contemplated the man in front of him. "I've never treated anyone who wouldn't see things my way before." He said dangerously. "You understand I can't leave it like this? If you won't help her then I will. I'll just have to let her go instead. A little more chloroform and she'll be free."

Jim leaned his head back until it touched the pole behind him and breathed deeply, his breath sounding fluttery in his ears.

"Do you want me to do it that way James? Do you want her life to be over?"

Jim closed his eyes for what felt like an eternity and then shook his head, defeated.

"I'll get you some water." Edward said, the smile plain in his voice.

* * *

Karen was aware that she was shaking slightly as she sat in the car next to Marty who wove dangerously in and out of the small amount of traffic that was on the roads at that time in the morning. She looked at her watch again. It was coming up to 5 am.

"I tried his home number but it's ringing out." She glanced at Marty, a frightened look on her face.

"Don't worry. He'll just be asleep and you can kick his ass for having you worry and then he can kick my ass for waking him up." Marty joked but Karen noticed that he did not look convinced by what he had just said.

"Relax. Ten minutes and we'll be there and the squad car will probably beat us to it. And we got Tom; he might already be there. _Don't worry_."

"Marty?"

"Yeah?"

"I _am_ worried. He always picks up." She peered over at Marty, her brows knitting together.

"Look, _if_ this nut is there then we gotta remember that he went easier on the Goldberg guy. It stands to reason that _if_ he's targeted Jim then he's not gonna go as hard on him as the other two vics." Marty asserted. "He's not gonna be as pissed about a disability is he? We may have a bit more time!"

Karen took a breath and squeezed her eyes shut. Opening them she stared at the vanishing road ahead. "How d'ya think he's gonna go on adultery Marty?" She asked.

"You're kiddin' me right?" Marty pressed the accelerator to the floor.

* * *

Edward returned to where Jim knelt with a glass of cold water in his hand. He pulled a large pill bottle from his pocket and popped the lid with his thumb. Putting his hand in Jim's hair he pulled his head back a little "Open your mouth." He whispered. Jim did as he asked, gagging slightly as Edward tipped a quarter of the contents of the bottle into his mouth. "Shh" Edward soothed. "Have some water." He put the glass to Jim's bloodied lips and tipped it slightly. Jim spluttered. The water splashed down his front streaking the dried blood on his chest creating tiny pink rivulets that ran down his body only to disappear as they met the waist of his pyjama bottoms. Jim coughed some more and then gasped for air as he swallowed the mass of tablets and water. Before he could catch his breath Edward tipped another load of tablets and water into his mouth causing him to cough again. Jim swallowed and swallowed again, the cold water making his stomach cramp violently. His thoughts swam, he couldn't hold his head up anymore and Edward's voice seemed to come from miles away. He felt his whole body sag and pull against the ropes as Edward released the grip on his hair. He realised that for the first time in over a week he wasn't hot. He felt cold, so cold he was shivering.

"You did good James. She'll be ok now." Edward whispered from far away. He tried to nod. Christie would be ok. He had protected her. It had cost him his life but he had stopped this guy from hurting her and she would be ok. With that thought Jim felt himself relax and let go, a blanket of nothingness wrapping itself around him.

He wanted to stay there, floating in the dark but he could hear a noise that kept tugging him back, a faint banging and then voices, faint voices that grew around him until they turned into a single voice. The single voice was new, new and loud and very angry. It was the last voice Jim heard.

"_Lay face down on the floor with your hands above your head and don't you move or I'll blow your fucking head off!"_

* * *

Marty and Karen had pulled up outside the Dunbar's apartment block at the same time as the squad car. Flinging the doors open they both leapt out of the car and hurried towards the front door. Karen glanced upward and noticed a dim light was on in the apartment. Marty called over to the two uniforms as they climbed out of their car.

"You got something in case we need to break the door down?"

"Sure." One of the uniforms replied as the other went to the boot of the car to retrieve the hand held ram.

Marty pulled at the front door, which surprisingly, swung open in his hand. "What floor Karen?"

"Fourth." She replied, her mouth dry, as they ran down the hall towards the lift doors. Waiting for the lift to reach the fourth floor was a living nightmare. "Shoulda took the stairs." Marty sung under his breath, his nerves beginning to show. Karen was about to say something in response when the doors opened accompanied by the soft ping of the bell.

Silently they made their way down the heavily carpeted hallway to Jim and Christie's door. Positioning themselves at either side of the frame Karen and Marty listened carefully for any sounds from within. Karen thought she heard someone coughing but then nothing. All was quiet. Marty faced Karen and gave her a short nod. Balling his fist he banged on the door with the side of his hand. No response. He hammered again. Nothing. Turning to the uniforms he ordered, "Open it."

One of the uniformed officers stood in front of the door, steadied the ram and then swung it back. It connected with a heavy thud, which sent the door shuddering open on its hinges.

Marty stepped in through the doorway his weapon drawn, aware of Karen stepping in a little way behind him. They found themselves face to face with a very pale young man. He stood by the kitchen area with an empty glass in his blood stained hand. He didn't move, he just stared, a vaguely surprised look on his face. His dark eyes darted from Marty across to Karen and then back to Marty again. He swallowed and then opened his mouth as if to speak but said nothing.

Karen stepped past Marty and into the living area without taking her eyes from the man and Marty, who had his gun trained unwaveringly at his chest. The silence yawned and Karen realised she was holding her breath.

Suddenly a loud click, like a whip crack, emanated from the mans jacket pocket. As if he had needed some catalyst to help him spring into action Marty took one, two, three fluid steps towards the man, his gun held straight. _"Lay face down on the floor with your hands above your head and don't you move or I'll blow your fucking head off."_ He shouted.

The man looked for a moment as if he was going to cry. His lower lip trembled and he looked petulant as he stared at Marty.

"Give me an excuse to shoot you." Marty shouted again, the quick triple click of his gun announcing the safety was going off.

Edward flinched at the volume and tone of Marty's voice. Dropping the glass he scrambled to the floor. Looking down Marty trained his gaze on Edward.

"Karen, cuff him" He ordered.

When he didn't hear Karen respond or move he raised his voice a little, "Karen." He glanced to his side where Karen was standing by the kissing pole. She hadn't heard him. Jerking his head back to the patrolmen he said, "One of you guys cuff this scumbag and then check the bedroom."

Once the cuffs were clicked into place and one of the patrolmen was kneeling by their perp with a heavy hand on his back, Marty lowered his gun, put the safety on and shoved it into the holster on his hip. Quickly he moved over to Karen. She stood looking down to where her partner was tied to the kissing pole, her hand clamped firmly over her mouth. Marty pushed past her and knelt in front of Jim putting two fingers on the side of his neck.

"Karen, we need a bus. Karen!" Jumping up he took hold of Karen's shoulders and shook her lightly. "Radio for a bus now!" He said firmly, his dark eyes fixing hers.

Snapping back to life Karen lifted her radio. Her voice wavered. "This is 8 Squad we need a bus to 88 Front Street, Brooklyn, we have an officer down. I repeat we have an officer down."

"Go into the kitchen and get a knife. Biggest you can find." Marty ordered.

He knelt back down in front of Jim as Karen returned with the knife. Putting his hands on Jims shoulders he told Karen to cut the ropes, ankles first and then wrists. As she did so Jim slumped forward onto Marty's shoulder, the movement causing his stomach to heave involuntarily as he vomited copious amounts of water, pills and blood on to the polished floor.

Karen found herself out in the hallway, half sitting half leaning against the wall, her head in her hands. She didn't know how she had gotten out there but there she was. She was shaking more than she had ever shook before. More than when Condell had shot himself in front of her, more than when she had Randy Lyman cornered in his kitchen. There was just so much blood and those pills …."Get your shit together Karen, get your shit together!" She ordered herself as she swiped away the tears that were running down her face. Pushing herself up the wall she heard footsteps and suddenly Tom was in front of her.

"What happened? Karen?"

"Marty found a link to the next vic and we got Wilson up and we didn't have the names. Not all the names were there …." She babbled.

Tom leaned over her, looking her directly in the eye. "Karen, you need to calm down. Take a deep breath and take me in there. Marty in there?"

She nodded. She could hear the faint wail of sirens. Tom put a hand on her shoulder and followed her into the apartment.

Marty was sat on the floor next to Jim whom he had put into the recovery position, his fingers still monitoring his pulse. It looked like he had been sick some more. Was that good or bad Karen thought wildly, her stomach clenching. Marty's expression grew worried. "Karen, come sit down here." Somehow she forced herself into action. Hurrying over to where Marty sat and Jim lay she half knelt, half fell on to the floor next to them.

"Gimme the radio." He demanded, "And hold his hand, talk to him or something." Marty held the radio up to his lips, his other hand still pressing Jim's neck to track his weakening pulse. "This is 8 squad. We need that bus NOW!"

Swallowing down the overriding feeling of nausea in his own stomach Marty pushed himself up from the floor, not noticing the blood drying on his hands and t-shirt. He grabbed Tom by the elbow and headed for the bedroom. The other uniform sat on the edge of the bed next to Christie Dunbar's peacefully sleeping form. She stirred a little, shifting onto her side slightly.

"She ok?" Marty enquired.

"Seems fine. There's a rag on the nightstand, smells like chloroform." The uniformed officer supplied.

"I'll call another bus for her, just to be safe." Tom said as he raised his radio.

Marty leaned back against the doorframe and closed his eyes. After a moment he made his way towards the kitchen almost colliding with two paramedics as they rushed through the door to the apartment, laden with equipment.

Dodging the paramedics Marty crossed the room and squatted down by the palpably scared young man cuffed on the floor. Marty proceeded to pull out his handkerchief, wrap it carefully over his hand and reach into Edwards jacket pocket. His face hard he pulled out a small tape recorder.

"Oh! You didn't just make my job a little easier and tape all this for me did you?" He breathed angrily, staring down into Edward's pale face.

"I just wanted to help." Edward whispered.

"Oh you did, sweetheart, you did." Marty spat as he waved the tape recorder in front of him.


	11. Chapter 11

A Final Session

Chapter Eleven

_Karen felt as though her head would explode if she drank any more coffee. She'd had more than she cared to remember at the hospital and then had nervously been refilling her cup back at the squad every fifteen minutes or so. Sitting at her desk she rocked back in her chair slightly, her eyes sliding from her desk phone to her cell, which she had carefully placed in front of her. _

"_Looking at them won't make either of them ring." Tom said._

_She hadn't even realised he was there. Looking up at him she gave him a tight smile. _

"_How long has the chief been in there?" He jerked his head toward Fisk's office door._

"_I didn't even notice he _was_ in there." She answered. "I'm getting coffee. You want some?" She asked._

"_Sit. I'll get it."_

_Tom rose and made his way down the corridor to the locker room, nodding as Marty passed him in the opposite direction._

"_You hittin' the coffee too?" Karen asked as she watched Marty set an overfull mug next to his laptop. "That's your third in an hour."_

"_Still less than you." He replied as he wheeled his chair over to her desk. "Why don't you head home? Get some rest, you've had what, three hours sleep at the most last night?"_

"_Nah, I couldn't. I'm better here or you know, if anyone rings…."_

"_Karen, if we get a call you'll get a call." He assured her._

_She shook her head tersely and swallowed, afraid the ache in her throat would transform itself into tears that she knew she would not be able to stop. "I want to be here when you do the interview." She stated looking away from his face._

"_This nut has to calm down first." Marty huffed, settling back at his desk. "Last report was he was still crying like a baby and keeping everyone in the tombs awake. He's one popular guy down there." _

"_He'll be one popular guy when he gets up here too." Karen muttered as she watched Marty fiddling with the plastic evidence bag containing the tape recorder he had taken from Edward Mellor's pocket. The thought of what might be on that tape made Karen's skin crawl. She looked up and caught Marty staring at her._

"_What?" She demanded._

"_I was gonna ask you the same thing." He replied evenly._

"_I don't know what you mean." She took a swallow of lukewarm coffee and wondered where Tom had gotten to with her fresh cup. She desperately tried to avoid Marty's gaze._

"_It's not the same is it?" He asked._

"_What?"_

"_It's not the same as seeing a vic who you don't know from Adam." He stated, his voice level._

_She shook her head and looked away. "I don't know what happened Marty. I just.. I was just so scared that he was dead and when I saw all the blood… I think I'm gonna have to tell the boss. I mean if I don't have your backs then what good am I to you …."_

_Marty cut in. "Karen, you have our backs. I've seen you in those kinds of situations and you definitely got it covered, but you can't expect to go into a scene like the one we've just been in, which involves someone you know, and not be affected. Especially the first time."_

_Karen rolled her eyes dismissively and looked over to Fisk's office. "I've seen stuff before Marty. I should have known better, I'm not straight out of the Academy." She snapped._

"_You've seen 'stuff' Karen, 'other people stuff'. You know, you're moving up pretty fast. You're no slouch but you're young for a detective and you haven't seen everything." He said kindly, looking over at her, feeling she still wasn't cutting herself any slack._

_He pressed on, determined to get her to listen to him. "When I first made the grade we were called to a warehouse where these guys had been trading guns. We knew about it cause we had a man inside. I knew him to say hi to around the precinct and my partner and I once played him and his partner in some pool doubles thing some of the guys had going on. Anyway, we go to this warehouse to close it down only they've gotten wind about our guy and they've cleaned up and gotten the hell out. All we find is a few empty crates and our guy on the floor almost cut in half by god knows how many rounds from what was probably an assault rifle." Karen looked up at him as he continued. "I did nothing. I just stood there staring at this pool of blood while my partner shouted me to move my ass and I did nothing. I just couldn't move and when I finally did I threw up. You know what I did after you left in the bus Karen? I did everything that was needed and then, before Tom and I got in the car to follow you to the hospital, I had to take a moment and stop myself from throwing up. You learn through experience kid, like I have, like Jim has. You'll learn through experience and you'll be ok."_

_Karen nodded but Marty could see she still wasn't convinced. "Thanks Marty." She shrugged. "I'm gonna go change." She gestured to the front of her t-shirt that was spotted with blood and stood up making her way to the locker room. Once there she flung open her locker door and grabbed a sweat top from one of the shelves. She'd probably be sweltering in it but it was all she had._

_As she pulled her t-shirt over her head she breathed in the faint antiseptic odour of the hospital and her head swam. The hospital, the ambulance, the last couple of hours danced through her head alarmingly._

She'd lost her cool in the apartment and she knew it, right up until Marty had told her to come and sit on the floor. She'd moved automatically, slipping a little as she made to kneel down next to Jim. Listening as the wail of sirens grew she reached down and lay her hand on top of his, all the while keeping her eyes from his bloodied face. "Bus is on its way partner." She said quietly.

Suddenly, almost imperceptibly, everything seemed to snap back into place. Partner. _Partner!_ The word stuck in her throat and started to ring through her head like an alarm. This was _her_ partner and he needed her, needed her to do more than sit and mutter platitudes while she avoided looking at him. Grabbing Jim's hand up she sandwiched it between her palms and started to rub small circles on the back of it. "Jim." She called to him, bending forwards to draw her face close to his so she could speak directly into his ear. She settled her hand gently onto the side of his head. "Jimmy, the bus is coming. Can you hear it? I know you can hear it, just stay with me. I'm here and I'm not gonna let you out of my sight. Ok? Just stay with me." That was when she felt his fingers curl slightly in hers. Her heart raced, adrenalin coursing round her body making her stomach fizz. "That's it, I knew you could hear me. Come on Jim, open your eyes and I'll ask you if you're ok and you can tell me your fine." She forced a small laugh, pulling his hand up close to her body as his fingers curled again.

She kept hold of his hand whilst the paramedics did their job only releasing it momentarily whenever they asked her to. She kept hold of it in the ambulance, watching as the paramedic leaned over Jim fixing a plastic peg like device onto one of his fingers on his other hand. She held on tight to him as they cleared his airway, her eyes squeezed shut, her stomach lurching as she listened to the wet rattle of the tube the paramedic had put into her partners mouth.

When the noise stopped Karen opened her eyes again. The paramedic had slipped an oxygen mask over Jim's nose and mouth and was gently lifting his swollen right eyelid so he could shine a penlight into his eye. A worried look passed over his face as he repeated the exercise with Jim's left eye. Karen leaned forward and put a hand onto the paramedics arm.

"You OK?" He asked.

"Yeah." She nodded towards the penlight. "His eyes … my partner, he's blind."

"Ah. That would explain the limited response then." He smiled over to Karen as he leaned back to shout to his partner to step on it. "Anything else I should know?" He asked.

"Apart from what we already told you, I don't know." She shrugged. "He was shot in the head about two years ago. That's how he lost his sight."

"OK. It's best we know these things." He replied, his tone casual as he wrapped a blood pressure cuff around Jims upper arm, pulling it tight and squeezing the pump.

The next thing Karen knew she was clambering out of the back of the ambulance following the paramedics and the gurney at a half run. One of the paramedics ran through a string of words, which she didn't understand, with a doctor who was now racing along side them through the emergency room of Belleview. They came to an abrupt stop as the gurney banged through a set of double doors that separated one of the trauma rooms from the corridor. Karen stepped forward to follow but a firm hand on her shoulder held her back.

"We've got him. You have to stay out here." A nurse dressed in lilac scrubs stared at her. "You can wait right here." She indicated to a row of chairs near the wall adjacent to the room they'd wheeled Jim into. Karen nodded and was about to move over to the chairs when she turned back and grabbed the nurses sleeve, "My partner is blind so if he wakes up he won't know where he is," She fixed the nurse with a no nonsense stare, "so you come get me ok? He doesn't like hospitals so you _have to_ come get me." She nodded to herself as the nurse pushed back through the doors.

* * *

Karen shifted uncomfortably. She felt like she'd been sitting on this plastic chair for an age but she knew it hadn't been long at all. Every now and then she got up to look through the glass panels in the doors to the trauma room. It didn't help. She couldn't tell what was happening. All she could see was doctors and nurses stepping around the gurney and each other, rushing back and forth with pieces of medical equipment that meant nothing to her. Occasionally she'd have to step back hurriedly as someone barged their way through the doors and rushed down the hall.

"Hey" She looked down the hallway to see Tom and Marty rushing towards her. "What's happening?" Marty asked.

"I don't know." She shrugged impatiently. "They took him in and left me here. I've heard nothing since. Where's Christie?"

"They just brought her in. Paramedics couldn't see anything wrong but she musta had a recent dose of chloroform because she's still fast asleep." Tom said, "She's in a room down the corridor sleeping it off. We left a uniformed officer with her. They'll give us a shout when she wakes up."

Marty sat next to Karen while Tom paced up and down in front of the chairs.

"We look great." Karen commented. She'd not really noticed before but Marty was dressed in jeans and a t-shirt that was liberally smeared with blood, she was dressed in old sweat pants and bloody t-shirt whilst Tom was dressed unusually smart in designer jeans and what she guessed to be a designer shirt.

"I know _I_ do." Tom tried to joke.

"Boss." Marty nodded down the hall at the lieutenant as he strode towards them.

"Someone care to fill me in?" He snapped, running his hand over the top of his head. They were all quiet.

The silence was broken abruptly by the swish of the double doors being pushed open by the doctor. Karen jumped out of the chair like she was on springs and pushed past Tom as the doctor walked towards them.

"Are you here for Detective Dunbar?" He asked.

"Yeah, I'm his lieutenant. How is he?" Fisk asked frowning.

"He's stable. We've pumped his stomach just to make sure nothing was left in there and we're keeping him monitored to make sure there's no organ damage. From what you told us it doesn't sound like he had time to ingest much before he was sick so we're not too concerned at this stage. He has a broken nose, fractured cheekbone and severe bruising to the right side of his face. He also has a couple of deep cuts, which we've stitched. He is still unconscious though and that's giving us cause for concern so we're gonna send him up for a CT scan, just to make sure nothing's going on that we don't know about and then we'll move him upstairs." He clarified.

"I need to stay with him." Karen asserted.

"Sure." The doctor nodded. "I'll get someone to take you up."

"_Karen." Tom's voice sailed over to her, breaking her out of her thoughts, as she stood leaning on her locker door. "They're bringing him up."_

* * *

Karen and Fisk settled into the observation room as Marty and Tom strode into the interview room where Edward Mellor sat, his pale hands flat on the table in front of him, his dark eyes watery with tears.

"So, Edward," Marty began, dropping the plastic evidence bag containing the tape recorder and another bag full of papers lightly onto the table in front of them both. "You wanna run me through your thoughts on this evening or shall we just listen to this tape you made for us?"

Edward was silent as he looked sullenly down at the table.

Tom shifted against the wall. "You might want to think about getting a bit smart here Edward. It isn't like we don't know that it was you. After all you were caught, quite literally, red handed." Tom said. "We'd just like to know what you thought you were doing and then we might like a little chat about three other victims we got spread over this city!" Tom finished with a shout making Edward jump, the tears starting up again.

"Geez, Eddie. Don't start with that again!" Marty ordered. "You're not a kid. You haven't gotten grounded for leaving your toys out and you can't cry your way outta this!"

Edwards face became sullen again and the tears stopped almost as if they were on tap. "You wouldn't understand." He muttered. "And my name is _Edward_."

"Well why don't you try us?" Marty leaned over him, fixing his eyes with his. "Why don't you try to help us understand, _Ed_?"

"I help people." He said quietly. "They want help. That's why they come to the practice, but they don't get what they really need. Only _I_ give them what they really need."

"I'm struggling Edward, I gotta be honest, I'm struggling to see how drugging someone, tying them up, beating them and pouring sleeping tablets down their throat is helpful." Marty replied.

"He needed someone to show him how he was holding her back, how he was making her unhappy."

"Making who unhappy?"

"Her! His wife. Have you seen her? She's like so many of them. They're too good for these men. They put up with so much because they have good hearts and it sucks them dry. They waste their lives on men who just take and take and take."

"Were Anna Flannery and Elise Robson wasting their lives? Is that why you had to _help_ them?" Tom asked.

"Their husbands were the worst kind." Edward muttered, his voice hard. "Those men had everything. Good homes, good wives and it still wasn't enough!" He spat "They had to ruin it all! Drinking, gambling. They had no idea how much pain they caused those women! They didn't deserve them, they didn't deserve the lives they had been given and those women didn't deserve to be dragged down by them!" Edward was shaking with rage, his pale face now red with anger. "Those men never did anything nice for them!"

"Is that what this sick shit is all about?" Tom asked as he leaned forward and scooped up the plastic bag of papers. "What is this? Sightseeing holiday brochures, Gallery invites what's all that about? You're idea of something nice? You think cause this guy can't see he doesn't go nowhere, he doesn't do things with his wife if he can't benefit from it?" Edward was silent as Tom finished. "You were gonna leave this out for his wife with, let me guess, a pot of coffee?" Tom tossed the bag back on the table.

"They deserve someone who thinks about them first." Edward muttered, avoiding Tom's glare.

"Ok. So you're the hero of put upon wives everywhere." Marty snapped sarcastically. "I get that. But what about Michael Goldberg and Jim Dunbar? How do they fit into this game of yours?" Marty pushed what Karen had said about Jim being unfaithful to the back of his mind. Edward hadn't used a knife on Jim so it stood to reason that he didn't know. Taking a deep breath Marty pressed on. "They hadn't let their wives down. They weren't drinking or gambling. What did they do that was so bad Edward?" Marty pulled one of the chairs up next to Edward and sat down. "I'm getting comfy Eddie cause I really wanna understand this."

Edward scowled at Marty. "I didn't _want_ to hurt Michael Goldberg, he wasn't like the others, but you should have seen his wife! She wanted a family so bad and he couldn't give it to her! I know it wasn't his fault but they were trapped, don't you see that? They were trapped. He knew he should leave her to let her have a full life but he couldn't and she knew she wouldn't leave him. How would it look? Leaving him because he couldn't have children. She couldn't do it; she was just too good, too kind hearted! I had to help them out of their situation! You must see that? They needed a help!"

"And Jim Dunbar?" Tom asked.

In the observation room Karen shifted position and glanced over at Fisk. His face was as angry as she'd ever seen it.

"James was like Michael. I didn't want to hurt him either but I saw how she led him around, how he relied on her and I felt sorry for her _and for him_."

"You condescending son of a bitch." Marty snapped. "You ever consider he might not _need_ anyone feeling sorry for him, huh?"

"You didn't see him!" Edward snapped back. "He needed my help to let go. Let go of his wife so she could live properly, let go of his own life so he could be free and if you listen to the tape, just listen to it, you'll see that in the end he agreed with me, he swallowed the tablets of his own free will and I just _helped_ him!"

Marty stood up and grabbed up the evidence bags from the table.

"You wanna know something Eddie? I _have_ seen him. I see him everyday cause believe it or not that guy who you think needs your pity, whom you assume has his wife do everything for him, that guy is a cop, a detective who works here. Now, I'm gonna suggest you dry your eyes and keep your mouth shut and hope that you don't get a visit from some pretty pissed off colleagues of his while your down in the tombs, cause Edward, I gotta tell ya, they might just decide to come and _help_ _you!_"

With that Marty banged the chair onto the floor and strode out of the interview room with Tom following.

* * *

Fisk sat on the edge of Jim's desk as the others settled back into their chairs.

"We got an address on this guy yet?"

"Yeah, Dr Wilson just sent over the address they have on file for him so we'll get over there and see if we can find any tapes or notes on the other three vics." Tom replied. "We also got records back from the name check. Nothing on him but plenty on the dad. An alcoholic. Seems he was in and out of prison for various things, the main being assault and battery against his wife a one Jenny Mellor."

"So little Edward spends his time watching daddy drinking and beating on mom and not being able to stop it so when he grows up he decides to re-address the balance." Karen suggested.

Fisk stood up. "Let's go over his apartment and see if we can find any tapes. It's pretty open and shut though. It's definitely one for psych."

"What do we do about this one?" Marty asked, holding the tape recorder up.


	12. Chapter 12

A Final Session

Chapter Twelve

Marty carefully eased the key into the lock of apartment 3. Turning it gave him an apprehensive fizz in the pit of his stomach and he knew Tom was feeling the same as he saw him slide his hand to the holster on his hip and pop the fastener that held his gun in place. They had no information that told them anyone other than Edward Mellor lived here, but they knew better than to take these things for granted. Silently he put the palm of his hand flat to the peeling paintwork and pushed. The door swung open in one fluid movement. Tom, hand poised on the handle of his gun, stepped tentatively forward, scanned the interior and gave a low whistle.

"Not what I expected, given the outside of this establishment." Tom remarked, his brows rising as he looked around.

They had gotten Edward Mellor's address from a rather distressed Dr Wilson and the keys from a disturbingly unrepentant Edward when they'd searched him prior to tossing him in the back of the patrol car. The address they got led them to a shabby building on Hester. The ground floor was given over to a grocery store with four apartments above and when Marty stepped out of the car and looked up he was met with a façade that was lousy with peeling paint and rotting wood frames. The inside of the store wasn't much better. When they went in to find out how to get upstairs Tom swore he saw stuff that had stopped being sold when he was a kid. He didn't want to think about what dates were on half this stuff. After being directed by the storeowner to a side door they climbed the dimly lit, narrow stairs up to apartment 3.

As he stepped through the door after his partner Marty had to admit it wasn't what he had been expecting either. "Welcome to lifestyles of the poor and psychopathic." He quipped.

It was a studio apartment, nothing out of the ordinary in its layout; bedroom area to the left of the door, living area directly in front with kitchen area to the right and a door leading off it, which Marty assumed, would be the bathroom. What _was_ surprising was the décor. They'd expected the inside to be like every shabby, low rent apartment they'd every busted into, thready carpet, smoke stained walls and mismatched furniture. Edward's apartment though was definitely _not_ like that. The entire interior had been painted white, walls, ceiling, woodwork, floorboards, all white and not a soft, warm white but a stark white which, as a backdrop, displayed every stick of the apartments furniture with startling clarity.

The reason the furniture stood out so much was that all of it, every last piece was black, the bed and bedclothes, chairs, table, computer desk, lamps, blinds, all black. It wasn't only this that struck Marty and Tom though. This guy appeared to have _no_ personal stuff. There were no ornaments, high school trophies, family heirlooms, nothing not even any photographs apart from one Marty could see framed on the nightstand. The only remotely personal things were books, lots of them all rowed in order of height on the black painted shelves that stood next to the computer desk.

"Stella wants to decorate with all this minimalist stuff. I'm just not that sure. Not real homely if you ask me." Tom muttered as he gazed around. He turned when he became aware that Marty was staring at him. "What?"

"You movin' in together?" Marty feigned a shocked look.

"NO! No, it's her place I just … I mean I stay a lot but … Ah hell, I'm not getting' into this with you." Tom shook his head and moved over to the bedroom area.

Marty smiled as he stepped towards the bookshelves, pulling out a pair of latex gloves from his pocket and snapping them on.

"What's he got? Jackie Collins?" Tom asked, eager to change the subject.

"Yeah, right." Marty laughed. "Looks like they're all psychology books. No fiction."

"What? Freud 'n' that?"

"Nah, no Freud. Maybe he didn't agree with the guy." Marty smiled and turned his attention to the desk where a laptop and four box files lay.

"Well, one good thing." Tom called as he peered under the bed and then kneeled up to look at the picture on the nightstand, "It's not gonna take us long to find anything if it's here." He peered at the blurred photo of a smiling woman with shoulder length black hair holding a boy of around four years. The boy had his arm around the woman's neck lovingly but was frowning at the lens. "Think this could be mom?" He straightened holding the frame up to Marty.

"Dunno." Marty replied without even looking up. "Think this could be our evidence?" He asked waving above his head a tape and manila folder he'd fished out of the top box file.

Tom moved quickly over to the desk and opened the next file as Marty leafed through the folder he'd taken from the top one. "Looks like proper records lifted from the practice. It's full of real personal stuff. Mentions the name Estelle. That's the Goldberg's right?" Marty questioned.

"Look." Tom said, pointing to the long side of the file he was rifling. The initials J&A F had been written down the side in neat marker pen. Marty looked at the side of the file he'd taken the folder out of and saw M&E G. Looking across to the third he saw it was marked R&E R. His stomach tightened as he looked to the box file at the bottom of the pile marked J&C D. Grabbing the box file up Marty pulled it open to see Esther Bergen's original forum notes lying neatly in the bottom.

Tom looked up at Marty. "Hey," He started, shifting from side to side. "I know this stuff is evidence but I'm really not comfortable with goin' through that file if it's as personal as these ones."

Marty nodded. "Me neither." He agreed quietly. "I'll bet we got plenty on this fruit loop with the other three files and tapes. We'll pass this to the boss. It can be his call." Suddenly the shrill tone of his cell phone burst through the air making them both jump. Marty fumbled it in his haste to answer.

"Boss?" He answered sharply, the tension in his voice palpable. "Any news? Right. Uh, yeah we got plenty. Three tapes. Yeah, notes too. Will do."

"No call from the hospital yet?" Tom demanded as Marty ended the call.

"Nah'. Boss just wanted to know if we'd got anything here. Seemed happy when I told him we did." Marty tossed the box file back onto the desk top with a heavy sigh.

* * *

With Marty and Tom gone to check out Mellor's address Karen and Fisk moved into his office to listen to the tape. They sat in silence as it rolled, Fisk occasionally shifting uncomfortably in his chair and fiddling with the bagged therapy notes file they'd found on the Dunbar's dining table. When the tape finally came to an end they both sat back and looked at each other. After a moment the Boss cleared his throat and spoke quietly, "I don't think anyone else needs to hear this, do you?"

She shook her head. "There's some pretty personal stuff on there, so no."

"Agreed," Fisk nodded. "If Tom and Marty get enough from Mellor's place I'll be able to make this disappear. Ah, to be honest if they don't it's disappearing anyway." He slipped the tape recorder back into the evidence bag and tossed it in his drawer. "I'll give them a call." He finished.

Karen sat back in her chair as the Boss called Marty's cell. She rubbed her hand over her eyes and squeezed them shut. She had a headache coming on and she never got headaches. She wondered idly if Jim had any aspirin in his desk drawer. He was always popping the things; surely he'd have some. She resolved to go and look as soon as the boss was done. He seemed to be finishing up the call with Marty, "just tapes or anything else? Good. Get back over here and we'll go through them." He dropped the receiver down and looked up towards Karen. "Tom and Marty got tapes and notes on all three vics so looks like we can bury the stuff relating to Jim."

Karen nodded and rubbed her hand across the back of her neck. "Good." She shuffled her feet.

"Anything you wanna add, Karen?" Fisk asked.

"No, I'm good boss."

"Ok. Look, you should let me know if you think you need to see anyone about what happened today." He said slowly.

"What d'you mean what happened today!" She snapped sharply

Fisk looked at her hard. "_Well_, you partner getting attacked was at the front of my mind."

She visibly relaxed and shook her head. "I'm fine, really."

"The service is always there if you want." He finished.

Karen stood up and shifted on her heels impatiently. "I'm gonna head back to the hospital Boss, if that's ok? I can't sit around waiting for them to ring anymore and Christie could probably use the company."

"Sure. Call if anything changes." He said, but Karen was already out of the door.

* * *

A half-hour later Karen pushed the door to Jim's room open. The lights were low and the room was quiet except for the rhythmic beep of a heart monitor and gentle breath sounds muffled by a plastic oxygen mask. "Hey" she said quietly as she walked towards the bed in which her partner lay. Christie jumped a little and turned in her chair to face Karen.

"Sorry. Didn't mean to make you jump." She apologized, noticing that Christie Dunbar looked pale and, for all the sleep she'd had, tired. She was dressed in light green scrubs, which washed her complexion out, and her usually slick black hair was all mussed and tangled at the back.

"How's he doing?" Karen asked tentatively as she looked over his face, the right side of which had developed into a puffy mass of purple and red angry bruises that bloomed beneath the stitched cuts on his cheek and lower lip. His right eyelid was swollen and wet looking.

"OK. CT scan was clear and he's stable, he's just not waking up." She looked away from Karen and back to her husband, her brows knitting.

"How about you?" Karen pressed gently.

"I don't know." She shook her head. "I went to bed in my apartment and I woke up here without a clue about what happened in between, so honestly, I really don't know." She finished, her voice wavering a little.

"You want me to call anyone?"

Christie shook her head. "Not yet, not if you can stay for a bit." She replied. "I know Jim would like it if he knew you were here."

"Really?" Karen asked.

"Really." She smiled.

Karen nodded. "Sure. I can stay. I didn't really wanna leave before but …"

"The job." Christie nodded.

"Yeah. Somethin' like that. I had to see this guy, the interview." Karen explained, noticing how Christie frowned a little and then deftly changed the subject when she mentioned Mellor.

"Thanks for staying with him while I was downstairs." Christie tried to smile. "He doesn't like hospitals and I'd hate for him to have woken up and been alone."

"Yeah, I know. He's always a little out of sorts when we have to interview anyone here so I wouldn't have left him. Look, you want me to call his family or have you already done that?"

"His mom and dad? God no!" Christies voice was sharp. "Thanks, but no." she said more gently. "After last time I wouldn't have that man in a hospital room with Jim again."

Karen raised her eyebrows at Christie as she pulled one of the heavy visitors chairs up next to her.

"It's a long story but last time I banned him from the hospital. Jimmy thought it was funny as hell when he found out." She looked at Karen's still questioning expression and tried to explain without getting into the whole horrible story. "Jim's dad's always been a bit of a bully and no one ever stands up to him. Well, _I_ did and Jim thought it was hilarious." She smiled at the memory of how Jim had laughed when she told him what she had done. It was one of the only things he had seen any humor in back then after the shooting. "He called me his knight in shining armour." Christie finished, her hand stroking Jim's, carefully avoiding the IV that was taped to the back of it.

"Makes a change." Karen smiled. "Doesn't he always like to be the knight?"

Christie nodded her chin trembling. "He has a thing about not being able to protect me, you know? He's always going on about it and I always argued, told him I could protect myself and that he was still my _man_ despite … Well he was right wasn't he? He couldn't protect us." She looked over at Karen, her face white. "He was right."

Karen shook her head and reached out to put her hand on Christies forearm, "No you're wrong Christie and he was wrong." Christie looked into Karen's face her forehead wrinkled in a frown. Karen hadn't wanted to mention what she and the Boss had just listened to but she wanted Christie to know what Jim had been prepared to do to protect her. "We have a tape, that man, he had a tape running and I listened to it. Jim protected you Christie, he did. He protected you with his life."

A single tear rolled down Christies face as she blinked and looked away from Karen.

Karen moved forward in her chair. "You want me to get you anything? You need me to pick up some clothes for you?"

"I'll call my sist…" She started to reply but stopped, "Jim?" She stood abruptly and leaned over the bed. "Jimmy, sweetie can you hear me?"

Karen looked over to Jim and saw his left eyelid flutter as he tried to open his eyes.

* * *

For the second time that day Karen found herself shifting on the uncomfortable plastic of a hospital chair. As soon as she saw Jim trying to open his eyes she had rushed out of the room and down the corridor to find a doctor. The one she found didn't seem to understand her sense of urgency as he and a nurse calmly made their way to Jim's room. Once they'd gone in Karen hung back in the corridor, allowing the door to swing shut in her face. After what seemed like an eternity the door pulled open and the doctor re-appeared.

"You can go in now if you like." He smiled.

"How is he? Is everything ok?"

"He's fine. He's very groggy and not saying much but he's responsive and we're happy with him at this stage. Don't try to get him to talk too much now. We'd prefer he get some more rest. Tomorrow he should be much more alert."

The doctor moved away down the corridor leaving Karen taking a deep breath as she pushed open the door. The nurse was still in the room, wheeling the now silent heart monitor back against the wall and hooking the oxygen mask up above the bed.

"Jimmy, Karen's here." Christie told him as she leaned over the bed.

Karen placed her hand over Jim's. "Hey partner."

His lips moved a little, "Hey." He whispered back.

"Don't try to talk too much. Doctors orders." She smiled hoping he could hear it in her voice.

"I need to tell you what happened, this guy, …" He whispered

"No need, we got him. We were at your apartment and we got him. Marty spotted a pattern."

"On his own?" Jim tried to smile but stopped when he felt the stitches pull in his lip.

"On his own." Karen nodded.

"I'm gonna let you get some rest ok and I'll be back in the morning if that's alright?" She looked over to Christie who nodded.

"Feel better, ok?" She pressed onto his hand and started to move away when his fingers caught in hers. She looked back at him as he squeezed her hand tight and then let go.

Christie called out just as Karen reached the door. "Karen?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks. Thanks for being there for him."

Karen looked back at Christie but unable to hold her gaze quickly turned back to the door and pushed her way out to the bright lights of the corridor.

* * *

It was late afternoon by the time she left Belleview and the heat was at its height of oppression. She'd called the squad and the Boss had said he'd meet her at the hospital tomorrow. She was just about to stow her cell phone back in her pocket when something beeped making her jump. The tone of the beep was unfamiliar and it took her a moment to realize it was Jim's pager that she'd fastened to her belt. She snapped it off and looked at it. The screen was blank. What did he say about the extra button? She really couldn't remember so just pressed the first one that hit her fingertip.

"_Juniper Valley"_ Droned the stilted voice of the pager. Juniper Valley? It meant nothing to her, _no, hang on!_ It did ring a bell but what was it? It was on the tip of her brain. Dumbly she stood rooted to the spot on the sidewalk as she desperately tried to drag the elusive information forward.

* * *

Eventually Karen's memory did come back to her. It would have come sooner if a beat cop and then a helpful older lady hadn't both stopped to ask her if she was ok.

"Sorry I took so long." She cooed as she stooped down in front of Hank a little while later and clipped his leash onto his collar. "Do you need me to settle the bill now or does he have an account?" She asked the receptionist at the Juniper Valley Animal Hospital.

"It can go on account, don't worry about it. Um if you're taking care of him do you need some feed?"

Karen hadn't thought about this. "Yeah, doesn't he have a special diet or something?"

"I'm afraid so. Hang on and I'll get you a bag of biscuits. We don't usually allow these to go on account though." She gave Karen a questioning look.

"It's fine. I'll get them." She looked down at Hank. "I'm sorry boy, you can't go home just yet so you have to come with me ok?" He tilted his head and fixed her with his glittering eyes. "I got a little bunny though so you have to behave. You gotta promise not to eat him, cause somehow I don't think he's on your approved diet plan." Hank whined. Karen sighed, her cheeks puffing out as she contemplated the dog sitting in front of her. "OK. Probably a bit much to ask." She rubbed her hand through his fur thoughtfully. "We'll go someplace else. We'll go see someone you'll like."

Straightening up Karen hefted the bag of biscuits from the receptionist's arms, wrapped Hanks leash around her wrist and pushed her way out of the double doors.

* * *

Andy Bettancourt leaned his elbows back on the top step of the porch and straightened out his long legs, his heels idly scraping the concrete path that ran up to the three front steps of his pale green painted duplex. It was early evening and he should have been getting ready for his usual Saturday night poker game with his buddies. He didn't mind missing though, in fact he'd been thinking of dipping out before his daughter had called to say she was dropping by.

Dropping by. "Hmm" he'd grunted to himself as he replaced the receiver in the cradle. It was a fair way to drop by at short notice. Mind you, he thought, that was Jersey for you, you could get out but it would always keep calling you back. He knew his girl though and she had sounded a little off. He shrugged to himself; maybe he was imagining it, he'd soon see. She'd never been any good at hiding things from him, from her mother yes, much to Carla's annoyance. He smiled at the memory of his wife being indignant that she didn't have a daughter who confided everything in her as she had done with her own mother. He remembered what he had said, "You're not your mother baby and Karen isn't you. And may I say, _thank_ _god_ you're not your mother." She had laughed as his hands found her waist and slid to her hips as he pulled her close to kiss her neck. She'd swatted him away with her apron, telling him to cut it out if he wanted dinner that night. She always did a lot of swatting away; play-acting whenever he tried to get fresh around the house or if anyone was around. When they were alone though she would remember all the little passes he had made over the day and get her own back.

Blinking Andy leaned his head back, stared up at the trees overhead, and wondered idly if he had more than one TV dinner in the freezer. Karen would not be impressed if he didn't. He was just about to get up and go inside to look when he heard the noise of a car slowing to a stop. She was here.

Karen felt a rush of warmth in her stomach as she drew up in front of the house where she grew up and saw him in his usual spot waiting for her. She felt like she was eight years old again, coming back from a disastrous ballet class and seeing him there.

Killing the engine she undid the seat belt and flung back the door.

"Hey Mr. what you doing?"

Andy had jumped up from the steps and was making his way to the car. "Waiting for you Beattancourt. It's been ages. What d'you do, drive like an old lady?"

"I'm police trained, I can drive faster than you know." She laughed.

"Yeah well I _want_ you driving like an old lady. No speeding." He said warmly as he grabbed his daughter in a bear hug.

"You look good dad." She looked up at him and smiled.

"Karen, I saw you three weeks ago. Even an old croc like me can't go downhill that fast." He scanned his daughters face and noticed she looked tired, her eyes were a little red like she'd been crying. He was about to turn her round so they could go inside when something caught his eye. "Um, Karen are you aware you seem to have a bear in the back of your car?"

"What? Oh God I nearly forgot!" She cried sounding mortified as she pulled the back door open, "Dad, this is Hank."

Andy looked at the huge shepherd that jumped down from the back seat of the car whilst his daughter pulled a bag of biscuits out after him. "Is that his food just for tonight?" He laughed.

"No. Actually he doesn't eat that much, and you CANNOT feed him bits of crap like you used to with Harley." She chided.

"Watch your mouth and I did not give him stuff, he stole it." He defended.

"Yeah. Mom might have bought that line but I don't."

As Karen closed the door with a quick push of her rear end Andy took Hanks harness in his hand. "Nah, take the leash Dad. If you take the harness he'll get confused."

"He could join the club then. I take it he isn't yours?"

"He's my partner's. Jim's. You remember I told you about him. Anyway he's in hospital so I'm taking care of his dog. If you take the harness he thinks he's working and you don't know how to command him so he won't understand what you want him to do. That's if he'd even move for you." She mumbled as they made their way up the front path. "He's almost impossible to get to move unless it's Jim giving the order." She gave a little laugh.

Andy's brow creased in a frown as he looked across at his daughter whilst she studiously paid attention to the sack of biscuits, her purse, and her hair, anything to avoid looking him in the eye. "Come on." He said. "Lets get inside and feed this monster and then me and you can have a beer and catch a game."

Karen felt the easy comfort of home wrap around her as she padded into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator to hunt for food. Her eyebrows rose as she saw a homemade apple pie sitting on the middle shelf.

"Ms Kinsella been round again?" She shouted back to the living room, her voice teasing a little.

Suddenly her dad spoke up from right behind her.

"Don't get smart. She just brought a pie."

"Right."

"Right!"

"I wish you'd let her bring more than pie Dad, and I know mom would want that too."

"Ah, come on, gimme a break." He dismissed the subject.

"No Dad. It's been four years now and I don't want you to be alone."

"Let's talk about your relationships instead." He said wickedly.

"No fair! I'm too busy for a boyfriend."

"Hmm. It's too warm to stay inside. Lets get that beer and sit back out front."

"Mom would have a fit."

"That she would sweetheart, that she would."

A moment later they were back on the porch sitting side by side on the front step with Hank laid out on the neat square of lawn in front.

"He's very quiet." Andy commented, nodding over to Hank.

"They're trained not to bark." She supplied. "Although that could have just been Jim winding one of the other guys up. I'm not always sure." She smiled, hugging her knees to her chest.

"You gonna tell me what's up, or are we gonna dance around it some more?" He asked, pulling from the bottle.

Silence enveloped them for what seemed like an age. Andy was just about to change the subject when she spoke. "My partner got attacked in his apartment by this guy we'd been after. By the time we got there he was a mess and I … I nearly lost it."

Andy frowned, not seeing her problem. She looked up at his confused face. "I'm not supposed to bail out dad! God! I'm trained and I know what goes down in situations like this!"

Andy took a breath and licked his lips. "Did you tell any of the squad how you felt?"

"Yeah, I talked to one of the guys. He was nice about it and I know he has a point about me not having seen everything but …"

"But you're still not gonna cut yourself any slack? This guy, he older than you, been on the job a while."

"'Bout eight or nine years."

"You think you know better than him? Sounds like he's got the experience to know what he's talking about."

"That's not it." She moaned

"Well you gotta help me out here kid cause I'm missing something. Sure I can see how you might be kicking yourself for not being a strong as think you shoulda been but you'll know if there's a next time…"

"I feel like I let him down, dad! How can I look him in the eye now!"

"Karen, surely he's a reasonable man …."

"His last partner ... I don't know what heppened exactly, Jim said he didn't step up as much as he could have, but his last partner dad, _let him down_ and blinded is where it got him!" She snapped. "It's plain to see how he feels about that guy. He can't even stomach to talk about him so how's he gonna feel when he finds out his current partner let him down too?"

"Karen, I think you're over reacting to this. There's gotta be a world of difference between what happened today and what happened when Jim's other partner did whatever he did." He sighed. "You look all in. Come on; let's take this mutt down to the store. We can buy real food and cook a real dinner and then what you need is to have a good nights sleep in an impossibly pink and frilly bedroom." He smiled as Karen leaned her head against his shoulder.

"I never wanted it pink. I wanted pale green." She said.

"I know, but your mother wanted pink, and ballet lessons, that's why you got 'em."

"D'you think I let _her_ down too?" She mumbled.

"Whoa, you are feeling sorry for yourself aren't you?" Andy laughed, refusing to let his daughter wallow any more. "Sure she wanted you to be a doctor and like pink and frills and at least get _one_ certificate in ballet but she was so proud of her girl who fixed trucks with her daddy and joined the boys in blue."

With that he pulled her up and propelled her down the steps, lightly grabbing Hanks leash as they went. "Come on. We gotta get off this street before Laurel spots me. She's like one of them trap door spiders when she sees me out here. I'm not even safe with you."

She smiled up at his face "Laurel? When did she stop being Ms Kinsella?" She laughed.

"Gimme a break!"

She pulled Hanks leash out of his hand and slipped her other hand into his. She'd done the right thing coming here. Home always made her feel calm whenever she had things on her mind. Tomorrow would look better she told herself. "OK." She agreed as they made their way from the house towards the store, Hank pulling eagerly at the leash. "But you know if you went round she might give you food and we wouldn't have to go to the store." She laughed.

Andy Bettancourt looked down at his daughter, raised his eyebrows and plonked a heavy hand on the top of her head, ruffling her hair, causing her to duck out from under his palm. "Brat." He muttered as she continued to laugh all the way down the street.


End file.
